


Dear Soldier

by ToriTC198



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Bonding over a love of literature, Charles has a Masters Degree in fixing Erik Lehnsherr, Charles is a Teacher, Erik has a lot of issues, Erik is a soldier, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not so subtle references to canon, PTSD, Powerless AU, Soldier AU, The world has not been kind to Erik Lehnsherr and neither have I, They are the most adorable pen pals, Vietnam War, there will be angst and fluff and everything in between
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-02-09 12:42:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 39,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1983450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToriTC198/pseuds/ToriTC198
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dear Soldier,<br/>I pray that this package finds you well. The organization gave us a list of odds and ends that you might need, but I thought that a person so far from home might appreciate  something more than soap and tube socks."</p><p>When Charles' school decides to send care packages to the soldiers fighting in Vietnam, he chooses to also include a letter and a few personal touches. When Staff Sergeant Erik is the recipient of that particular care package it will spur a relationship that will change them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is actually an RP thread that I am writing with the lovely askprofessorx on Tumblr. They have done me the kindness of giving permission to post this one as a fic because I am in love with this story.  
> Charles is written by them and Erik is written by me. On Tumblr I'm actually-i-prefer-Magneto.

He could find no comfort in the rain. It was a disturbing anomaly, given his known fondness for the serenity of storms. Sightless eyes stared into the churning void outside the windows of that cozy little classroom, his mind half a world away. Plump, merry droplets chased one another down pane-less glass, heedless of the young man's plight. Surely they'd have more sympathy if they understood.

Charles had been welded to the same spot for the better part of two hours, the children having long since made their cheerful adieus. His addled mind seemed incapable of stringing as much as two words together. The task had seemed simple enough, in the beginning. His students had certainly taken it in stride, collecting food, toiletries and any odd baubles they could find to send to the brave soldiers stationed overseas. Additionally, each had written a short letter. It'd been a clever way to kill two birds with one stone, if he did say so himself. The kids had been working on their penmanship, after all.

As any good teacher would, Charles had heartily agreed when his exuberant third-graders suggested he participate in the school-wide project. A bit of philanthropy would do him good. So, it was with lofty spirits that he packaged together a neat little box of goods and sundries, complete with a travel-sized chess set. Someone was bound to enjoy the game as much he. All that remained was the insurmountable task of penning a letter.

In all his years, the young educator was certain he'd never been faced with a feat more daunting. What, precisely, did one say to a stranger risking life and livelihood in service to his country? Damned if Charles knew. His life, though far from perfect, was undeniably comfortable. What right had he to offer support to a man or woman on the front lines? It seemed inadequate, at best. Insulting at worst.

He'd considered - _very briefly_ \- simply doing without, but soon thought better of it. This nameless, faceless soldier deserved his effort, if nothing else. Besides, if his kids could do it, he should at least give it a go. Casting a forlorn glance towards the clock, Charles steeled his resolve. His sister would be phoning if he didn't turn up soon and he had no desire to recount his efforts to scribble a single-page letter. Raven would never let him live it down. With a long-suffering sigh, he bit down on his lower lip and finally put pen to paper.

_February 8, 1960_

_Dear Soldier,_

_I pray that this package finds you well. The organization gave us a list of odds and ends that you might need, but I thought that a person so far from home might appreciate something more than soap and tube socks. I hope you like chess! If not, I'm certain there's someone in your unit who might. As far as the novels go, I'm deeply sorry if you don't care for fantasy. Though, if you aren't a T.H. White fan, I'm afraid we can't be friends._

_If I may be perfectly honest with you, I wrestled with the idea of writing you this letter. It must be strange hearing sympathetic words from people you've never met. At the heart of it, I think I'd find it rather lonely. While I would never have the audacity to pity you, there is an ache in my heart for the home you may have left behind. The loved ones praying for your safe return. If we can relate on no other plane, I do know the sting of isolation._

_I must apologize if this seems uncouth. It's an odd thing, writing to someone without a name or a face. Just as odd as it must be to hear from one. In an effort to humanize things, I suppose I could tell you a bit about myself. My name is Charles. I'm an elementary school teacher in New York. I live in a tiny apartment with my younger sister. My favourite colour is blue. I like old films and I'll eat anything with strawberries. I also have a strange fondness for science fiction. There, now we aren't perfect strangers._

_With that in mind, I would like to thank you, darling soldier. I can't possibly imagine what it is to do what you do. My admiration for you is endless. Admittedly, I have always been an advocate for peace, but I respect your dedication nonetheless. Know that you have the undying support of at least one person. Thank you for your bravery._

_Wishing you all the best,_ _  
__Charles_


	2. Chapter 2

Erik doubted he would ever be able to breathe properly in the humid heat of the jungle. Every new drag of air seemed to catch in his lungs and flow back out again more as moisture than as life giving oxygen. Sweat rolled off him at every moment and the bugs came all too often to bite at the salty skin of him and his men.

He had been warned well before he shipped off. Told again and again that this place was hell on earth. Not like he could have done anything to get out of it, orders were orders after all. Erik hadn't believed the rumors though. How could any place be as bad as all that?

He had his answer in the steamy bogs that had become his temporary home. The men got shipped in fresh each week, new soldiers to replace the countless who were shipped out in body bags. It had reached a point where Erik hardly took the time to learn their names unless they had survived a full month. Very few made it that long.

Somehow, even with all of that, this place never quite reached the level of hell for him. No, hell had been back home. Hell was being on leave and arriving home to find your wife packed and ready to move out. Hell was her emotionless and numb voice informing him that Anya had died while he was away. Hell was falling to the floor as his life fell apart and Magda just walked out the door instead of helping him pick up the pieces.

This place, this swamp with constant death and unceasing torments, was nothing compared to the empty house that was once full of laughter as his daughter chased after him in glee.

Erik rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the stiffness that had built up in them. The cots they slept on were far from comfortable and months of nothing else had left permanent kinks in his muscles. One of these days he was going to forgo the cot entirely and just sleep on the ground.

A light knocking against the canvas of his tent had Erik sitting up in an instant, knife in his hand as his eyes flashed with warning. He relaxed and lowered the blade as he recognized, dimly, the mud streaked face of one of the privates that had shipped in a week and a half ago.

"Mail for you, Sergeant," the young man said as he fired off a weary salute and offered him a box with his other hand. Erik doubted this particular private would last long.

He took the box with the hand that wasn't still hovering at the ready near his blade. With a nod of dismissal Erik watched the young man retreat before he turned to the box in his hand. He opened it and read through the letter, snorting at the formality which seemed so out of place in the wilds of the jungle. Still, he couldn't help the tired smile that grew on his face as he touched the small items that had been added to give the package a little more of a personal touch.

It wasn't the first care package he had gotten out here, but it was the first one Erik actually had a desire to respond to. The words seemed more heartfelt than the usual sentimental drivel that everyone spewed and the gifts were far more meaningful than the standard fare. For lack of anything better to do, Erik dragged a pen and paper over to the overturned crate which served as his desk.

_March 2, 1960_

_Dear Charles,_

_I must admit your gifts caught be by surprise, enough that I felt a need to thank you personally. We have mass produced letters that usually get sent back with just a signature and a few stamped on words, but you did me the courtesy of putting thought into the things you sent and I will afford you the same._

_Chess is a game I have always loved, but I am doubtful any of my men will choose to play it. Perhaps next week one of the new ones will be a bit more prone to civilized games. Until then I will entertain myself with the books you sent. I would complain deeply about your choice of literature only because I confess I have read this novel at least a dozen times already. My own copy is on the other side of the world however, so instead I will express my thanks that you have given it to me so I may reread it here._

_Don't feel any need to ache for my distance from home. I hardly have one at all and this place feels as much like home as that house ever will. This place is not exactly a kind and forgiving land but I do not miss where I came from either._

_I suppose it would be polite to introduce myself before I say anything else. Staff Sergeant Erik Lehnsherr. I feel I should add more, some small details of my life in the same way that you did, but I find I can't think of anything._

_Instead of boring you with my life I will endeavor to find out more of yours. What made you pursue teaching? You say you enjoy science fiction, I must know if you mean novels or films. Myself, I am fond of both but I always find the written word captures me more as it can truly draw one into the world of the characters._

_I fear I have likely talked your ear off, figuratively of course, but I'm afraid there is little good, lasting, company here. I apologize that the paper is rather a mess, it is hard to keep the swamp away from anything out here and I can see the mud on the edges already. I'm sure more will gather by the time this letter gets out of this country._

_Thank you most sincerely for the gifts,_

_Staff Sergeant E. Lehnsherr_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another heart felt thank you to my coauthor askprofessorx for this marvelous Charles chapter.

It all seemed terribly silly, in hindsight. Charles had spent well over an hour writing, reading and correcting a letter that likely would be tossed aside without so much as a second glance. Raven, being the absolute _darling_ that she was, had of course rang him shortly after he'd signed it, and teased him relentlessly for the next three weeks. Still, he could not regret having done it. If nothing else, it was a point of pride that he'd actually _finished_ something. Sharon could eat her haughty words.

In truth, he hadn't given the letter or its receiver much thought since he'd dropped the boxes off in the gymnasium the following day. Running after a pack of spirited eight-year-olds had a way of occupying his full attention. Of course, there were a handful of moments, always fleeting, in those lonely hours just before the dawn, when he'd wonder what that nameless soldier was doing. If he…or she felt as inconsequential as Charles did. Not likely.

More than a month had passed, days filled with giggling imps at play and midnight heart-to-hearts over cold takeout. The Earth, as it was wont, turned on. It could hardly be bothered to slow for things so trivial as the life of one man. A soldier must continue to fight, a teacher to mold, until the universe says otherwise.

He'd almost tossed the letter away, slid it into the ever-growing pile of junk mail collected on the hall table - _neither he nor Raven were the tidiest of individuals_. Of all things, it was the texture of the envelope that caught his attention. The heir to the Xavier fortune wasn't exactly accustomed to receiving letters caked in mud. His eyes widened in shock, an odd sense of guilt crashing over him as he read the benefactor: Staff Sergeant E. Lehnsherr.

So his letter had been read, after all! And he'd received a reply! With zeal that he had not realized he could muster, Charles sprinted to his bedroom, ignoring Raven's outraged cries at his leaving the door open. Who could think of burglars at a time like this?! It wasn't every day that he heard from strangers overseas. If his life had been lacking thrill before, it certainly wasn't now.

Charles locked himself away with a solid slam of oak. He would apologize to his sister later. After tossing his things on the bed, he tucked himself into the window nook he'd - _gladly_ \- sprung for when choosing the apartment. It was honestly the best part about the place. Once there, he found himself strangely terrified.

What would the letter say? Had the soldier been displeased? Would he be expecting Charles to send him something else? Did he even deserve this? After all, those could be the heartfelt words of someone that the young educator had not spared five minutes for in the past weeks. Thinking himself an utter fool, he tore the envelope open. He would know nothing if he was too much of a coward to even read the thing.

He read and re-read that rumpled bit of paper, an odd tightness forming in his chest, even as cherry lips curved up into a smile. This Sergeant Lehnsherr, whoever he was, sounded like the best of men. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Charles scurried to the study, tossing things aside in search of his stationary. He'd organize it later (possibly). He had a letter to write.

_March 24, 1960_

_Staff Sergeant Lehnsherr,_

_To say that your letter 'caught me by surprise', would be the understatement of the century. I hardly thought my rambling note would be read, let alone responded to! I must say, that it was a pleasant surprise indeed. If I know nothing else, it is that you are a thoughtful fellow. It's a trait the world is sorely lacking, I'm afraid._

_I was thrilled to hear that you enjoyed your package! I wasn't entirely certain that adding things not on the given lists would be appropriate, but I've always been a bit of a mould-breaker. I was even more tickled to hear that you are fond of chess. A man after my own heart! It's a fine game. Played by kings, if I'm not mistaken. I pray that you find at least one someone with whom to play. I'm dreadfully sorry about the book. Though, it warms me to know that we can be friends after all. I'll send along a small selection of my favourite titles. I hope you haven't read Tolkien!_

_Would it be entirely loutish to say that my heart aches all the more for your confession, Sergeant? All that you are doing, and to have no solacing place to return to. It seems downright cruel. If it is any comfort, I did not have much of a home either, for a long while. My sister and I broke away from that void and created a new place. I'm certain that is possible for you as well. I must have faith._

_Forgive me if I blather. I can't possibly imagine why a man in your position would want to hear the humdrum goings on of a schoolteacher, but I am flattered regardless. It's odd, really, my pursuing such a life. You see, it was always expected that I would follow in my late father's footsteps. He was a man of science, as was his father before him. I have a particular fondness for the field myself, actually. I attended both Harvard and Oxford in pursuit of degrees in biology and genetics, but it didn't settle well with me._

_I always felt that my time could be better spent serving people directly. What better niche to invest in than our future, no? My mother, bless her blue heart, nearly disowned me when she heard I was dropping out to become a teacher, of all things. I can't say I regret it. Maudlin as it may sound, those children are my life. I wouldn't give up educating for all the money in the world. Does that seem silly?_

_As far as your question about science fiction goes, I must say that I share your sentiments. Not to say that I don't enjoy a nice film, but nothing compares to the sanctuary of a book. Oftentimes, reading is all I have to keep myself sane. That must sound terribly pathetic, knowing what you face, but it's the truth. There is hope between the covers of books. The world would be a dark place without them._

_Goodness, look at me prattling on. If you have managed to get this far, I commend you so. I apologize. My darling sister has always said that I love to hear myself talk. I suppose the same applies to writing as well. I pray this letter finds you sound of health and spirit, and that the novels bring you as much joy as they have me._

_Wishing you well,_ _  
__Charles_

_P.S. I think it would be impossible for me to find any aspect of your life 'boring'. Surely even a Staff Sergeant has a favorite food?_


	4. Chapter 4

If he were honest with himself, Erik had rather expected to send off that letter and then never think on it again. Just one brief moment of connection before he went back to the mindless war that he had been swept into. It seemed the best plan, it just wasn't a feasible one. At night when Erik would stretch out with his already well read copy of The Once and Future King, he would recall the man who had sent it. A person who somehow seemed more real to him through a simple letter than the dozens of faces passing through his command each month.

A few of the privates stuck out in his mind, some who were still with him and others who had shipped home in one state or another. Erik had been rather fond of Darwin, always quick to adapt to new situations, clever and capable of maintaining humor in the worst moments. Even as Erik had pressed blood slick hands against the worst of the shrapnel wounds, Darwin had found the spirit to make a feeble joke before the last breath left his body.

Janos had been good too. One of the first Erik had been assigned when he first took a command position. Janos was sent home sans one of his legs and all of his cheerful nature. Azazel had collapsed in a spray of bullets during an ambush attack, Sebastian blown away by an innocent seeming woman who had a bomb hidden behind her back, Peter stabbed between the ribs before Erik had the chance to shout a warning…

Erik didn't like getting attached to them anymore. It only drove home the pain when they didn't make it out. Every new casualty felt like another failure as Erik recalled their happy faces when they spoke of going home in a few months. Every hit they took resounded through his own body as he wished that he had moved in time to take the blow himself. There was no one waiting for him, no home to return to, and knowing that he lived on while these young men were torn apart and slaughtered without ever returning to their loved ones was a far worse pain than death.

No, it was best not to get attached to them.

Charles though, half a world away, was safe and without really meaning to Erik had allowed a connection to form. Not so much to the man himself, but to the thought of someone existing outside of this chaos and death.

Despite his desire to continue communication, Erik still somewhat doubted that he would receive an answer. The man had likely only intended the letter as a one-time thing and even receiving a letter back would probably not sway his mind. It was with cautious surprise that Erik picked up the small box a month and a half after his own letter had been sent. He tried to quell the burst of optimism by reminding himself this could easily be a care package from some other random benefactor.

He sat in the mess tent, quickly eating the disgusting concoction that supposedly counted as food, and opened the box. He smiled as he recognized the slanting letters that he had read over and over in his spare time. There were a few new books tucked under the letter, but Erik ignored them as he set to reading Charles' words which seemed far more important.

Again he got that strange surreal feeling as the words didn't quite fit with the atmosphere surrounding Erik. The mosquitoes biting into his skin and the sting of sweat perpetually dripping into his eyes seemed so far detached from the world of school-children and Oxford education. The letter was Erik's window to a world that he had started to doubt even existed outside of the swamps and blood of the war.

There was no hesitation this time as Erik wiped grubby hands against his already dirty uniform and reached for the nearest clean looking piece of paper. He snatched it up and retreated to his tent where he could write without the curious gazes of his men.

_April 10, 1960_

_Dear Charles,_

_I assure you I was just as surprised as you to get a reply. I may have been presumptuous in thinking that you would merely brush off my response. I am certain you did not intend to spark any sort of lengthy communication with me when you first contacted me. If I am intruding on your time you are certainly not obliged to respond to my letter._

_You are correct in saying Chess was a king's game. If I recall my history properly, it was a necessary part of learning for the Persian nobility. Of course that was centuries ago and I suspect the game has adapted and changed as the years have passed. I am curious what the rules were when it first came to be. Forgive my introspection, I rarely get the chance to ponder things anymore, Saigon is a place of immediate action, not ponderous thoughts._

_I did find a partner to play chess with for a time. It was enjoyable to dig up my rusty chess skills and I admit I lost quite a few games before I really got back into the beautiful patterns of the game. I hope to find another chess opponent soon as I am afraid mine was shipped home rather shortly after his arrival._

_Tolkien is likely the best gift I could have asked for. I have in fact read the first book but I never managed to find the time for the other two. I have often wondered what became of Frodo and that ring of his. I look forward to delving back into a world that once so ensnared me within its pages._

_I would not call you foolish for the fact that your heart aches for me, though I really must inform you there is no need for it. I am not the kind of man who needs a place to return to, I fit in far better in the wilds over here and I am content to remain fighting here. I do understand the desire many have for a home, and I am glad you and your sister found one together, but that is not a desire that I share._

_This may seem odd to you, but it truly amazes me to read the passion in your words when you speak of your profession. It is no secret I suppose that most of the men over here have been drafted. I am faced every day with soldiers who want nothing more than to leave the service of their country. I believe you serve the country just as nobly as any of us, and instead of being forced into it, like so many are, you have instead_ chosen _to give your life to the cause you serve. It is admirable and I wish that more of those who served could do it with your drive._

_I must beg your forgiveness again; I appear to be rather long winded today. As the commanding officer here, I spend a great deal of time making certain I am always seen as rather invincible. It is, of course, a foolish notion. However, the boys I get are terrified enough as it is and you would be amazed how much good it does them to believe their group is led by someone who can protect them. It leaves me with very few moments to just be human and I fear that my desire for that simple feeling has allowed me to ramble rather a lot._

_I am thankful that you are willing to listen at all,_

_Staff Sergeant E. Lehnsherr_

_P.S. To be honest, with the food they give us here, I have quite forgotten what decent food tastes like. I no longer recall my favorite food. Instead I will offer you the knowledge that my favorite color is red._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, Charles has been fantastically written by askprofessorx. I cannot thank you enough for writing this story with me.

Charles would not, _could not_ , allow himself to hope for a reply. It was selfish, in a way. Staff Sergeant Lehnsherr bore brutalities that he could scarcely imagine, trapped on foreign soil while the young heir lead a life of leisure. It seemed some sick, cosmic joke that he should be so content while a man as good as the Sergeant was in hell. A queer sense of shame tugged at his proud heart; he did his best to tuck it away. Dwelling on things he could not change would do little good.

No, no. To hope was to welcome heartache. Instead, he threw himself headlong into work. There was never a shortage of things to be done in the classroom. Planning, leading, shaping, sharing. It was arduous, to be sure, but ever so fulfilling. Doing something that mattered helped to soothe his guilty conscience. Teaching would not help him leave much of a mark on the world, but it was _something_.

Of course, his lack of expectancy did not stop Charles from _thinking_ about Erik — _Staff Sergeant Lehnsherr_. For the most part, his stubborn single-mindedness kept him occupied during the day. He and Mr. McCoy across the hall had somehow gotten roped into organizing the school science fair. In truth, he was grateful for the distraction. For in those waning-twilight hours, his thoughts drifted to another world entirely.

Charles had never been to Vietnam - _likely never would, given their political standings_ \- but he had heard his fair share of stories. They were never particularly detailed, the United States did a remarkable job of keeping those sorts of things under wraps, but the evidence was inescapable. Bodies were being returned home in droves; the telltale glint of dog tags rested against hollow chests.

How could a man gracious enough to voice his thanks to a perfect stranger be subjected to such monstrosities? It was wrong. He wondered, gazing up at his ceiling as the burdens of each day melted from his shoulders, if Sergeant Lehnsherr would make it out alive. It would be a sin, if he did not. The world needed more men like him. A small, hidden part of Charles wished that he had never gotten that letter. It was nasty business, growing attached to something that could be so easily lost.

Regardless, his heart soared when Raven - _all suspicious eyes and pursed lips_ \- dropped another ratty envelope onto his bedside table one evening. It had been only five weeks since he'd sent his own! With a halfhearted promise to reveal all in time, he sent his sister out for food. For reasons that were beyond him, reading the Sergeant's response was something he needed to do alone.

The letter left him reeling, breathless with the now-familiar tightening of his chest. Was it possible for such a being to exist? With a smile that rivaled the sun, Charles dumped the contents of his satchel in search of paper. He needed to reply while the warmth still pooled in his heart.

_May 4, 1960_

_Dear Staff Sergeant,_

_I was as elated as ever to receive your letter. If you will pardon my frankness, I had absolutely no intentions of becoming pen-pals with an army officer, but I warmed to the idea immediately. It has been an absolute pleasure to hear from you and I hope that I might again. You are risking everything that you are for your country and its people, I can certainly spare a few moments to pen a letter._

_Oh! I see that you are as brilliant as you are brave, Sergeant. It is refreshing to know someone as well-read as yourself. Persian nobility, you say? How fascinating! I'm certain my father shared as much with me during our frequent matches, but for my life I can recall no details. The ease of yesteryear has become a haze. If only I had learned to appreciate such things in our youth, no? I'll simply have to do a bit of reading up on the subject. It would be delightful to know more about a game so dear to me. Perhaps I'll even share it with the children._

_I'm dreadfully sorry to hear about your partner going home. Though, I am grateful that he was not shipped off in a body bag. It must be awful, that constant fear of losing your comrades. I can't imagine. Forgive me. I should not dwell on such things. Not when you are forced to face them constantly. How tactless._

_Perhaps, if you are ever on leave in New York, you could give me a ring. Goodness knows I could use an opponent well-versed in the art of strategy. I've tried to coerce a friend of mine into playing a few times, but he so rarely invests himself in the game. Raven (my sister, I can't recall if I've mentioned that) is utterly opposed. She calls it an 'old man's game' and refuses to learn. I love her to bits, but we are so very different._

_I was pleased to hear that you are, in fact, a fan of Tolkien. His series is one that I frequently return to. It is such an effortless place to lose oneself, no? He has managed to create an entire world. I shall send along a few more titles, if I can think of any that are suitable. I hate to bog you down with more than you can carry, but I thought it the least I could do. Feel free to pass them along to your men, if you fancy. Is there any particular genre that you enjoy? My selection is rather extensive._

_Your words of praise humble me, my friend. I try to pour as much of myself as I can into what I do. Life would seem rather inconsequential otherwise. I feel I must admit to you that I feel no small amount of guilt for my position. An old spinal injury kept me safe from the draft. It hardly seems fair that I can return home safely night after night while there are good men who will never see their families again. It warms me to hear that you think my work as honourable as theirs._

_Please do forgive my over-sharing. I have the strangest sense that I can say these things and not be judged by you. You seem like a man who can be trusted._

_If I may be so bold, I believe that your men are very fortunate to have you. After all, you have kept yourself in one piece all this time. I can feel how deeply you care for those under your command. They could not ask for a better Staff Sergeant. I will happily lend an ear to any and all of your ponderings. That is the very least I can do._

_It seems that I am incapable of penning a reasonably-lengthed letter. I apologize for my idle ramblings. I really must learn self-control. As always, I pray that this finds you safe, happy and whole. You are a beacon, my friend. This world needs a flame as bright as yours._

_With utmost sincerity,_ _  
__Charles_

_P.S. I took the liberty of sending a package of dried fruits and trail mix. It isn't much, but it should keep. I hope that it's a nice break from whatever they've been feeding you all._


	6. Chapter 6

As the weeks passed, each day bleeding into the next just as surely as Erik's men bled into the bogs of Vietnam, he often found his mind turning to Charles. What was Charles doing? What lesson had he taught his students that day? Had he read any new books? Was he happy?

Erik would be the first to admit that he was using the other man as a coping mechanism. A way to distance himself from the atrocities of war when it all became too much to bear. If his mind was on the other side of the world it was far easier to forget the click of a landmine underneath his friend's foot or the screech of a mortar shell tearing ever closer to them before ripping another life away.

It kept him sane and it allowed him to maintain the distance that he had worked so hard to create between the war and himself. He wondered what Charles would think of him if he saw the man Erik really was. Not the well-learned individual who could pen letters filled with deep thoughts and shared interests, but the violent weapon that moved through the jungles with deadly intent and who took life unflinchingly.

Perhaps it was because Erik had lost all value for his own life, but he found himself able to take the lives of others with ease. He was ruthless and efficient, sweeping through the ambush parties and slaughtering them before they had the chance to do anywhere near the harm they intended. Erik had become a master at tuning out the screams of his own men being shot down, it was more important to focus on his attempts to take down the enemy. Stopping to aid a fallen comrade only allowed the V-C more time to kill the rest of his men.

Erik now knew the exact depth to plunge a knife if he wanted to kill a man, he could tell from a mere rustle of leaves where to aim a gun for a fatal shot, he could even take men down with his bare hands if he had nothing else left to fight with. There was more blood on his hands than there was in his entire body and that was a side of him that didn't seem fitting to share with the teacher on the other side of the world.

If Charles knew who Erik really was, the monster he had become for the sake of keeping his men safe, he would likely stop writing at all.

As it was, over three months passed before Erik received the next package. His men had been cut off from the main force, an ambush taking out their communication had led to three weeks fending for themselves while their food slowly dwindled and the V-C pressed ever closer around them.

Erik had started with twenty men and only managed to bring seven of them back. The others would rot in the shallow graves he had dug them when it became clear they were not capable of bringing the corpses home.

It was with a far heavier heart that Erik received the newest box and letter. The reminder that the world still turned ever onward outside of his own hell nearly undid him. Erik stared at the pristine white envelope for close to an hour, feeling the sobs building in his throat as his mind struggled to remind him that he was back at camp and not out in the swamps. No one disturbed him in his tent, so Erik let the silence build around him because that press of quiet was infinitely better than the rattling breath of a dying man.

When he finally opened the letter with trembling fingers, he forced his mind back to that place of sanity that he had often retreated to. This was Charles' world, not Vietnam. It was like being immersed in a fictitious realm, only he knew that this one was real. This one was the kind of world, the kind of life, he was fighting for.

_July 17, 1960_

_Dear Charles,_

_Please, call me Erik. I am so very tired of my title I would be glad to be known by my name again at least by one person. People often take a name for granted, forgetting the power and beauty of having something so uniquely yours. I have lost my name too many times to let it slip so easily away from me again. I've been known as a number, I've been known as a rank, and I have been known by the call sign that gets spread across the radio out here. Just once, by one single person, I would like to be Erik again._

_I don't believe I have the vocabulary to express how much it meant to get your letter. I confess I have been sorely in need of a reminder that the world still exists beyond this humid disaster of a land. I do not know what fortune of fate has made it so our lives touched, but I am thankful that we both seem to want to stay in contact. Truly, I thank you._

_Was your father the one who taught you to play chess? Myself, I learned from an uncle. I must have been around eleven, we had just moved to the United States and I remember we would collect odd trinkets to use as pieces because we could not afford a real set. My aunt's thimble would stand as the queen, spare buttons were the pawns, and if I recall correctly the king was played by a carefully folded chocolate wrapper. I was nearly seventeen before I even knew what a real chess set looked like._

_You truly have no need to apologize for bringing up such things as the deaths of the men I surround myself with. Don't feel a need to censor your words for my sake. I assure you, around here death is such a constant part of life that I will certainly not be offended simply because you mention off hand that it exists. I am not so fragile that I will break at the reminder of the danger we all face._

_About your invitation to call you if I am in New York, I will endeavor to keep it in mind. At the risk of sounding ungrateful, I must add that I doubt it will ever happen. I am uncertain if I will even return to the states so I do not intend to get too attached to any plans involving them. I would however love to challenge you to a game of chess (Despite your sister's claims it is definitely not just an old man's game), so if the day ever does come when I set foot on home soil again I will be certain that I visit New York._

_My free time has dwindled as of late, so I am only just now starting the last of Tolkien's series. I am beginning to fear greatly for all the members of the Fellowship and I find myself hanging on to every word Tolkien pens with bated breath. It may be strange to say, but these books make me think of my own situation. Just as Rohan and Gondor fight against dark times and seemingly impossible odds, my men are here in this dark place where it becomes so difficult to remember that the world can still be good. I have to hope that Tolkien will bring them peace at last in this final book just as I hope that one day my own fight will be done._

_You ask me what genre of book I enjoy, if I had to choose I would answer fantasy. However truly I enjoy nearly all instances of written word and I doubt there is much of anything I would not love to delve into._

_My friend, please do not feel guilt for the fact that you are safe while others are not. The fact that the war was not able to claim you is a good thing. Adding your name to the list of the damned would do nothing to remove the names of any other. Your impact on the world will be far greater than my own, and you need not feel any guilt that life has placed you there instead of here._

_Truth be told, I am quite glad you are not here. I feel if I were to have met you here I would hardly have taken the time to get to know you._

_I hope you forgive my disagreeing with you, but I do not believe my men are lucky to have me. Keeping myself in one piece is not really quite as meaningful when my men do not stay as safe as I do. If I were truly the commander I want to be, I feel that I would see far fewer of my men fall. Often times it is only mere moments that make the difference between life and death, and I spend hours playing those moments back and wishing I had moved faster or had the time to push them from harm's way._

_I grow weary of the feeling of life slipping away under my hands and wearier still of knowing that the one dying had so much more to offer the world._

_I am truly sorry. If I am honest you caught me at a bad time and I fear I am more morose than usual. I do not mean to prattle on about such somber topics as death but it is hard lately to remove it from my mind._

_I also feel I should apologize that this letter will likely take longer to arrive than the other ones. My men and I were out of communication for a time and I am certain that has extended the time between letters by a few weeks. I wish there were a faster form of communication, but we must take what we can get I suppose._

_I hope this letter find you well,_

_Erik Lehnsherr_

_P.S. The fruit you sent was most likely delicious. I hope you do not mind, but I felt my men needed it more than I did and I passed it on to them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the extent of what has been written so far, from this point updates will slow down to about one a day.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another amazing Charles chapter from askprofessorx.  
> I love you, Darling.

Time, Charles decided, was the cruelest of mankind’s creations. It could be bought and sold, bartered and stolen, utilized or wasted away. Time was as precious as it was fleeting and, for the most part, there never seemed to be enough of it. For the young educator, however, it oozed by like molasses between thick fingers, trapping him in its sticky folds.

It had been well over three months since Charles had received word from Sergeant Lehnsherr. He felt the passing of each day in his bones, an ache that deepened every hour, every minute, every second that ticked by. He’d long since abandoned all efforts to resist his childlike longing. Propriety and sound judgment forgotten, he had come to care for the man. At least in so much as he wanted him safe and whole.

Worry clawed at him unremittingly, slicing his mind to ribbons and making concentration an increasingly trying task. Raven, his peers, and even his spirited band of children had begun to take notice of his distance. At any given moment, his thoughts were continents away, wondering how his dear soldier was fairing, why it had been so long since he’d received word.

Had Sergeant Lehnsherr been injured? Captured? Had the fighting grown so ceaseless that he could spare no time for trivial tasks? Or had the novelty of the teacher’s mundane life finally worn off? Charles refused to consider death a possibility. Even Fate was not so cruel as to bereave the world of such a warm and earnest heart. If fear willed lean legs to sprint to the mailbox every evening, or kept cornflower eyes red-rimmed and desperate for sleep, it certainly wasn’t because of  _that_.

Perceptive, compassionate and infuriatingly stubborn, Raven finally managed to wring the truth from her headstrong older brother. Against impressive persistence and no small amount of coercion, Charles recounted his correspondence with the brave officer, withholding only the letters themselves (they were  _his_ , damn it). He made no move to defend himself against the severe tongue-lashing that followed. His sister was the only person who knew of his losses and the dark spiral that always accompanied them. It was she, who the young man would turn to if the worst came to pass. Her strong arms he would seek. Her soft chest he would bury his sorrow against, pale fingers clasped about a quaking mug of tea.

For her sake, and that of his sanity, Charles remained cautiously optimistic. Erik was safe. He would write, if he had the time. And if he did not, it was no slight against the stodgy teacher. The world was as it should be and would turn on accordingly. It wasn’t until the arrival of that weather-worn envelope that he realized how little he’d believed his own words. 

Trembling hands clutched the letter to his chest as he curled up atop his navy bedspread. He had been forced to tiptoe past Raven’s open door in fear of her protests. Months of (debatable) patience made devouring those words well deserved. Yet and still, he could not bring himself to open it. He was terrified to continue contact. Equally as terrified to let it end.

Fingers tore and eyes roamed, as he’d known full well they would. He was as powerless to let it die as he was to stop breathing. With a grateful smile, and damp cheeks, he went in search of pen and paper. If he was damned regardless, he would cherish every moment.

_August 12, 1960_

_Dear Erik,_

_An odd sort of contentment has settled in my chest at writing those words. My cheeks ache from smiling. I know it sounds absolutely preposterous, but I feel closer to you somehow. Much like any other word, there is power in a name, I suppose. Henceforth and forever more, you will be Erik to me. I am honoured to be given the privilege. I assure you it is not one that I take lightly. Though, I would like you to know that you have never been merely a title to me. My respect for you goes deeper than your rank._

_I haven’t the words to articulate the joy that your response has brought me, Erik. My own absurdity astounds me at times, for I understand how preoccupied you must be, but I was growing quite concerned. I can breathe a sigh of relief knowing that you are safe and well. I am sorry for whatever troubles kept your men from so simple a pleasure as writing. Please know that I do not hold any of this against you, dear friend. My worrisome nature is my fault alone. Raven affectionately refers to me as a mother hen._

_There is no need to thank me for writing. If anything, it is I who should be thanking you. It is so easy for me to get lost inside of my own mind. It’s a dreadful habit. The world extends far beyond my tiny nook and you have shown me that there are brave people with big hearts everywhere. You have helped to keep me grounded. For that, my students, my family and I will be forever grateful._

_The story about your assorted-trinket chess brought a smile to my face. I had no idea that you weren’t born in the United States! Where are you from originally, if it isn’t too intrusive to ask? I am a native New Yorker, but I spent so much time in England as a child that most of my friends consider me a Brit through and through. My father was an Oxford man, born and bred, and he was indeed the one who taught me everything I know about chess. I’m afraid I don’t remember much else about him. He was a busy man, and passed when I was quite young._

_Your lack of faith is heartbreaking, my friend. I know that it is far from my place to make assumptions, but I simply must believe that you will make it home. There isn’t enough light in this world as it is, and I refuse to accept that yours can be so easily snuffed out. If we have nothing else in this life, we have hope. I respect your need for realism, but I assure you that I will hope enough for the both of us. My board is waiting for a suitable player and will be until you are safe on U.S. soil. Do not argue with me. I have unwavering conviction._

_So, you are a fantasy man! I will make note of that for the next time I send you more books than you can logically carry. Have you been sharing the load? I am elated that you’ve finally been allowed time enough for leisurely reading. I know how strenuous things must be, and so won’t risk spoiling the end for you, but I will say that there is a reason that Tolkien is among my favourite authors. You won’t be disappointed._

_I’d like to thank you for your kind words regarding my circumstance. I cannot help but feel less a man for avoiding the burden that you and so many others face. Still, I was able to take some comfort in your assurances and I am grateful. In similar effort, I am forced to disagree with you in reference to your own position. You are a good man, Erik Lehnsherr. I understand, truly, that you feel responsible for every soldier that you have lost. A lesser man would not invest as much of his heart. You are at war, my friend. As you said yourself, loss is inevitable. You cannot burden yourself with that guilt. I am certain your men would say that their lives were better for you having been there. There’s so much more to you than you know._

_Never apologize for offering me your truth. In all honesty, it would wound me to know you’ve censored yourself on my behalf. You are entitled to your feelings. If I cannot take up arms beside you, then I will certainly offer an amenable ear. It is an honour that I bear happily. I am always pleased to hear from you._

_As much as I would enjoy gabbling on about what a gift you are to this Earth, I am afraid it has grown rather late. I am up to my ears in decorations and finger foods. If I don’t finish planning the children’s celebration tonight, I will have a full-scale riot on my hands. As always, I pray that my letter finds you well and I hope to hear from you soon._

_Care and best wishes,_ _  
_Charles_ _

_P.S. Forever putting others before yourself. Of course I don’t mind! They are yours, after all. I’m sending along another tin. Do with it what you will._


	8. Chapter 8

The letter had hardly left the camp when Erik started to regret sending it. He should have waited to pen those words until he was further removed from the pains of the past few weeks. Erik had no right pressing his own depressive thoughts of death and mortality on to the poor professor. No one wanted to read about how tired he was of watching his people die.

It seemed the letter had been nothing but a long string of complaints in the guise of communication. Erik would have to remember to apologize in his next correspondence. That was assuming of course that his poorly thought out letter did not scare the kind teacher into halting their exchange of letters. Erik wondered exactly what level of horror he would have to reveal in his letter in order for Charles to decide the words caused more harm than good.

It wouldn't be the first time Erik had scared someone away from his life simply by being himself. After all, why else would Magda have left? She never did give any explanation, so Erik was forced to conclude that she had somehow seen the monster lurking beneath his skin and ran from it.

That monster was far better suited to life here in Saigon where he could unleash the death and destruction that he was so inexplicably good at. The fact that Erik's heart ached - though he would adamantly deny the fact - with each life he took meant little in the grand scheme of things.

Slowly, Erik and his men recovered from their brief foray into the jungles without back-up. Physically at least. The gaunt look faded as food was pressed at them constantly, the aches and bruises faded by the day and more severe injuries were shipped away for medical attention. Erik brushed off the multiple people telling him that he needed to get a nurse to at least look at him. Aside from the clawing hunger that still hadn't quite left him, and a cut on his arm that a V-C had managed to inflict, he was fine. There was no time to spend in a medical tent when he had a job to do.

Still, it was in a medical tent that he found himself when the next package arrived for him. Erik protested vehemently that he should be allowed to leave but a glare from a superior officer forced him to remain. He was sure that it didn't help his case that he had collapsed with a fever in the middle of a mission. Three men had died because of his pride and Erik still remembered dimly hearing their screams as his fingers scrabbled at the ground trying to force himself to get back up.

It has seemed like such an inconsequential thing, the small cut on his arm. He supposed it made sense that it would get infected when not properly treated. Mud caked everything here, and there was little ability to keep the wound clean. He should have just let someone look at it, stitch it up and bandage it before it had been allowed to fester.

Three men dead.

Erik would live with those souls forever haunting his steps.

One of them had been engaged. Erik recalled sitting around the cook fire at night and listening to him talk about her with a light in his eyes that made the rest the men jealous.

Now the fever, and the infection, had died down at last and Erik was going crazy waiting for permission to get back to the front lines. He had read Tolkien's books twice over in the week and a half spent laid out on a miserable cot and despite the beauty of the words he was growing tired of having nothing but them to keep him company.

So when the private came into the hospital tent, strolling through the rows and doling out mail, Erik felt his heart soar when a package thudded onto his lap.

Charles' neat script stared up at him and Erik gleefully tore open the letter. It had come quickly this time, just three and a half weeks since Erik's own letter had left. He devoured the words with a fond smile as he thought of the amazing man across the world who deemed Erik worthy of his time.

_October 1, 1960_

_Dear Charles,_

_It feels good to see my name written out by you. I could not help the smile that I gave when I saw those four little letters. (I feel I scared some of the other men in the room. I have often been told my smile is close to that of a shark.) It feels somehow like we have become far better friends with just the simple change of how you write the salutation of your letters. Perhaps it is odd how much stock I put in a name, but I cannot help it I suppose. I do not wish to burden you with the woes of my life story, but believe me when I say I have excellent reason to be attached to the concept of a name._

_I do realize I have used yours since the beginning and I hope that was not too presumptuous of me. I don't believe you ever gave me a last name or I would have referred to you by it until given permission to address you with more familiarity. You have always been Charles to me._

_I am deeply sorry that I worried you with my lack of communication. Trust me, I wanted every day to be able to write you. In fact I wrote you at least a dozen letters in my head as I waited for the chance to write you again in reality. Does that seem odd? I found throughout the day little things would happen and I instinctively wanted to tell you about them. Like the odd bug I found that seemed green in the sunlight and purple in shadows. Or the way my men all laughed when one of my boots got caught permanently in the mud. I had to return to camp in my socks. The mundane things of life seem like words I should share with you and I'm not sure why._

_You say I have kept you grounded, but truly you have done the same for me and I must reiterate my thanks. Just as you get lost in your own world, I often find myself forgetting that there is still a world beyond this swamp. Hearing from you, seeing the proof of something more than all of this humid air and towering greenery, helps remind me why what I do is important._

_It is certainly not too intrusive to ask where I am from. I suspect somehow that there is very little that I would not share with you if you asked it of me. I was born in Germany and lived there until 1946. My aunt and uncle brought me to the states when I was eleven. We actually lived in New York for a time, so there were likely moments when we were not too far from each other. I wonder if our paths have ever crossed unknowingly before the day you sent me that first letter._

_Your hopeful words are nice to hear, and I will not argue them because I am quite certain we would never agree. We are in very different places and I realize it would be hard for someone who has not seen this world to accept the brutality and violence that is around every corner. Perhaps you're right, and I will survive to the end of my tour, but even then I do not know if I would return to the states. I believe I mentioned in my first letter (or perhaps my second) that there is not much for me there. I think I may desire to return to Germany if I make it out of Vietnam alive._

_The first book you sent has been read by nearly all the men currently under my command. Tolkien I'm afraid I have rather selfishly kept to myself for now. I have finished his work, and I even tracked down a copy of The Hobbit that one of my men possessed so I could learn more about Tolkien's wonderful world. I greatly treasure the moments when I can escape into that reality and away from my own. You were right; I was far from disappointed by his books. Many a time I wondered how things could possibly work out for everyone when their fate seemed so dark._

_Perhaps I am rather like Frodo in my desire not to return to the states. Just as he went to the undying lands because he felt he no longer belonged in the Shire, I feel that the man I am now does not belong back where I once called home. I will fight for my country gladly, give my life if that is what it takes, but I do not believe that my country is where I fit in anymore._

_Forgive me, my friend, for arguing with you on this point, I would rather not argue at all but I find I must contradict you again. There are some deaths that I am certainly not responsible for, men who fall that I could not possibly have saved. But there are others though who die as a direct result of my actions and I will shoulder that blame completely. Their deaths were unnecessary and would not have happened at all if I had not made foolish decisions. Do not absolve me of blame when it quite clearly falls on me._

_I have turned somber again in my topics, as well as potentially starting an argument with you. I fear fighting seems to be my best skill. I will attempt to turn the mood of this letter back in a happier direction by asking you what your children were celebrating that involved so many decorations and foods. Did the event go well?_

_I imagine your children all love you very much. It is obvious how much you care for them. I lost quite a few years of my own schooling, but the time I did have in school was always so much more enjoyable when the professor truly cared for our future and honestly wanted us to learn. You are a good man, Charles, and I am glad to have met you._

_I hope you are well,_

_Erik_

_P.S. I have not yet decided what to do with the newest package of food. I think I may be selfish and eat some myself this time instead of passing it all along to the others._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All you poor people talking about how sweet this story is… If only you knew the amount of angst that we have planned for Charles and Erik…


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We decided we needed dates on our letters to better track the passage of time, so I have gone back through all the old chapters and added dates.
> 
> As always, askprofessorx has provided a glorious Charles chapter for the story.

In hindsight, opening himself up so fully to a delicate new friendship had not been the wisest decision. Charles was a caring man by nature, and without the customary restrictions of formality between strangers, he found himself yearning to share every foreign experience, every mundane detail. Even with an ocean between them, Erik managed to pull a certain young educator's thoughts his way.

With increasing frequency, and at the most inconvenient of times, Charles found his mind adrift across miles of brine. Whilst up to his eyes in grammar worksheets, he wondered, idly, if Erik had yet received his letter. Shuffling down a crowded hallway, burdened with his class' newest assortment of 'chapter books', he debated which Dickens' novel his officer was more likely to appreciate. Being chased, laughing, over crunching leaves by sixteen (remarkably fast) third-graders, he daydreamed about steamy bogs and dense foliage.

The setting sun brought with it its own set of distractions. Long since removed from the come-home-and-pass-out pattern of prior months, Charles had a habit of staying up for hours on end. Searing mug of Earl Grey in hand, he would curl up in his pillowed sanctuary, eyes staring blindly past the bustling city below, while a million and one questions raced through his brimming mind. Was Erik in good health? Had been eating enough? Getting enough rest? Was he as melancholy as he had been in his last message?

It was only by a blessed twist of fate that he avoided his sister's chiding tongue. After a timely visit to his classroom, Raven had fallen into an amusing fraternization with his coworker. Hank was a fine match, he thought, all thick spectacles and pink-cheeked gentility. Charles approved wholeheartedly. Besides, blossoming romance served as the perfect distraction from his own absentmindedness.

He found himself alone, more often than not, their shared flat strewn with half-begun letters and scattered piles of potentially acceptable literature. Charming though he was, the young teacher found himself lacking in appropriately-aged friends. When not running behind giggling eight-year-olds or planning enjoyable lessons, Charles spent most of his time with his sister. It was nice to finally hold conversations with another adult, even if said conversations took place over month-long gaps. Erik was a confidant he had no intentions of losing.

Of course, this new revelation in no way meant his life could be put on hold. With school in full-swing and the winter months drawing rapidly near, Charles spent more hours in his classroom than ever. It was after a particularly exhausting evening of scrubbing glue from tiny desks - _honestly, how did creatures with such small hands manage to make such large messes_ \- that he came home to find another letter waiting for him.

Raven, bless her, had left the stained envelope on his pillow, obviously resigned to the fact that this correspondence was going to continue whether she liked it or not. In his shock, Charles wasted no time. He tore at the paper with impatient fingers, eyes roving hungrily over that now-familiar scrawl. Though it was late, and he was drained, he set about replying immediately. Erik was certainly worth a lost hour of sleep.

_October 28, 1960_

_Dear Erik,_

_Happy All Hallow's Eve! Of course, I realize that the holiday will have passed by the time you receive this, but I thought I'd wish it all the same. It's all anyone has been able to talk about, these past few days. Even as I write this, my hands reek of pumpkin. I spent the better part of my evening up to my elbows in pulp. The children have been little balls of excitement, chattering on about costumes and trick-or-treating routes. I dread the day that they come to class with pockets full of sweets. They are spirited enough as it is!_

_Raven is no better, I'm afraid. I swear that woman is more eager than my students. I suppose I can't really hold it against her. She's always been so terribly fond of Halloween and now she has someone besides me to strong-arm into ridiculous costumes. Still, I may dress up anyway, for the kids. A few of the teachers and I were thinking of going as planets. I'm sure we'll look absurd, but it does align nicely with my unit on the solar system. Perhaps I'll take to 'orbiting' down the halls._

_Look at me droning on about nonsense. You must be bored to tears. It's lovely to hear from you, Erik! I can hardly imagine what a 'shark smile' looks like (I have this frightening picture of several rows of dagger-like teeth in an otherwise human face. I gave myself a chill!) but I'm glad I could inspire it nonetheless. I believe, given the nature of your work, that a terrifying grin is quite suitable._

_You don't have to apologize about my penchant for worry. I keep myself up at night for any number of problems outside of my control. I have come to think of you as a friend, which unfortunately means that your well-being has been added to the list. I wouldn't give it another thought, if I were you. No one else has. I'm only glad to know that you are alive and well._

_I was delighted to hear how often you think of writing. It's not strange at all. At least, I hope it isn't, because I am much the same way. I cannot count how many little anecdotes I've scribbled down to send to you. Only pride has kept me from shipping them. I can't see how any person outside the realm of education would want to know that one of my children is a young Mozart in the making, or how another flies through novels well above her grade level._

_Oh! And I do hope that you were given a new pair of boots! Can't have you traipsing about in socks, can we?_

_Germany! How fascinating! Do you remember much about it? What was it like there? It's a shame, really; I have traveled to Europe countless times and I've never been. Mostly my father did business in France and England. We even visited Venice once or twice. Perhaps I'll dig out the old passport and expand my horizons, if I can ever spare the time._

_Please do forgive my presumptuousness. You are correct in saying that I have no understanding of life over there. I only meant to say that I can't bear the thought of losing you. I've always had a nagging sense of optimism about these sorts of things. It's more manageable than the alternative. I can appreciate your desire to stay away from the U.S. Let me simply state that I hope you find happiness wherever life may take you._

_How careless of me to have forgotten the Hobbit! To send you along on the younger Baggins' journey without sending the tome that started it all! I am elated to know that you have tracked down a copy for yourself, however. Their stories are inspiring ones and I'm glad that they could offer a faint light in the darkness. I do believe I'll send along one of my favourite novels by C.S. Lewis next. Forgive me in advance, for it is a children's book, but my students simply adore it and if it is an escape you are looking for, he can certainly provide it._

_You will find, my friend, that I can be as stubborn as an old mule when I set my mind to something, but I do not wish to quarrel with you. On this particular point, we may have to agree to disagree. To me, you will always be the bravest and most capable of leaders._

_It took me a moment to recall just what celebration you were referring to. I fear my memory may be slipping before my time. Chasing after children will do that to you. It was a small party to commemorate the start of term. It's become an annual tradition for my students. I had a lovely time and the kids seemed to enjoy themselves. They always do, when there are snacks and prizes involved._

_Speaking of celebrations, I simply must finish preparing for the 31st. I bid you adieu, dear Erik. I am going to send along a box of sweets with your books. You're more than welcome to share, if you'd like. I only hope that they'll keep long enough to reach you. As always, I pray this letter finds you sound of body, mind and spirit._

_Your friend,_ _  
_ _Charles_

_P.S. My name is Xavier. Charles Francis Xavier._


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnngst. Oh my God angst.

It had been an oddly peaceful month, for which Erik was immeasurably glad. He had even taken the time to learn the names and stories of some of the newest privates because it had been long enough since any died that he felt it was perhaps safe to get attached. One of them, a young man named Logan, had even been willing to learn chess in the long hours of the day.

The kid started off as a truly terrible player, slow to grasp the concepts and even slower to remember which moves were legal in the game, but he eventually started to improve and Erik found himself quite fond of their time together. The kid was gruff around the edges and Erik had liked him immediately, he was one of the few who had volunteered for the war and he showed up here with the air of someone who had already seen more fights than they could count.

As Logan whiled away his time with Erik, many conversations were attempted but all seemed to falter and die in lieu of simply playing chess in peace. Erik wanted to speak of literature and dreams while Logan preferred to discuss beer and cage fights. Still, they found an odd sort of companionship together and it felt good to have a friend on the same side of the ocean as him.

Within a few weeks, their quiet chess matches in Erik's tent became rather less quiet releases of sexual tension, and Erik found himself reveling in the languid peace of his new-found lover. There was no real emotion in the act, and nothing between them but close, and rather unconventional, friendship, but neither one wanted to turn down the moments of bliss that they could offer each other. Those moments made the entirety of the jungle fade away into the background and Erik loved every second.

He tried not to think about how often his mind still longed for Charles' eloquent language instead of the brash syllables which fell freely from Logan's lips. The weeks passed and Erik allowed himself to be happy with the slight hope that the war could be winding down.

They were out on a scouting mission when reality came crashing back to him.

There was a slight rustle of leaves, hardly enough to even be the wind, and then mud streaked faces were streaming out of the foliage and Erik's men were ducking for cover while the bullets whistled past them. Erik was off in seconds, knife out as he raced towards the attackers.

He used the knife far more than his gun. Guns damp with mud and humid air were liable to malfunctions; the cool steel of a knife had never let him down. Warm blood spilled over his hands as he plunged the weapon into the first man he came across, another followed soon after and then Erik ducked instinctively at the sound of a gun firing again.

There was a grunt somewhere behind him, like the air being shoved out of someone's lungs by an impact. Then the dull thud of a body hitting the ground. The world seemed to grind to a halt as Erik turned, recognizing far too well the sound of death, but recognizing even better the deep baritone of Logan murmuring his name.

If it hadn't been for another of his men tackling Erik to the ground, he would probably have stood frozen there until a bullet found his own chest the way the other had found Logan's. The jolt of being thrown to the ground knocked some sense into Erik, and he finally started moving again. He crawled through the mud, desperate to reach Logan and stop the blood that was pooling around his unmoving body. His mind was working on autopilot, his chest constricted with fear, and he hardly noticed the battle still happening around him.

His men were trained well, they took out the rest of the V-C efficiently and even though two more were wounded no one else was on the ground.

Just Logan.

Erik knew before he even touched the other man that he was dead.

He couldn't recall ever breaking down in front of his men before, but he did now. His fingers clutched at the fabric of Logan's uniform, tears rolling down his face as he shook the corpse and issued a stream of orders that was nonsensical at best. Demands that Logan breathe, that his heart start back up, that he just give one last stupid fucking smile as they shared a cigar.

To his men's credit, they didn't seem to think any less of him for the way he broke. Even later, as they carted the body back to camp, none of them mentioned the display. Thankfully none of them tried to comfort him either, consoling words would probably have elicited nothing but violent outbursts.

The day ended just like any other, but Erik lingered in the mess tent staring glumly at his uneaten food. He knew what he would find if he returned to his own tent. A pair of Logan's boots tossed casually to the floor, a set of half-full bottles of beer that had been abandoned for more carnal pleasures the night before, and a chess set that would forever bear the fingerprints of a dead man.

A man who had died taking a bullet meant for Erik. A bullet Erik had dodged out of habit, not knowing that someone far more important stood behind him.

He did eventually return to his tent, standing in the entrance for a few moments as he stared at the scene. Then with a roar of fury he tore the chess set from the table, scattering the pieces haphazardly, and threw the board as far into the jungles as he could. His hands grasped the pieces, collecting them back up with vicious anger and hurling them after the board.

He slept on the floor that night, unable to bear the thought of resting in the bed that he had shared with his friend. The next morning his eyes fell on a single black pawn that had escaped his tirade and he silently reached out for it. Red rimmed eyes leaked moisture again as he pulled the piece to him and held it against his chest where he could feel another sob building up.

He couldn't believe he had thought just the day before that the war might be slowing down. Later that morning, after he had pulled himself together, Erik marched to the command tent and signed away his life for a second time. He would be damned if he wasn't going to fight this war to the bitter end.

Two days later, a box was dropped off for him and Erik ran a hand gently across the name on the letter. He should have stuck with this. Charles should have remained his only tether to the world.

He opened the envelope reverently, filling his mind with the knowledge that Charles was still alive. Charles was still safe and well, untouchable by the war.

_November 15, 1960_

_Dear Charles (Francis Xavier)_

_Halloween passed rather uneventfully here I'm afraid. In truth I hardly remember what I was even doing that day. It seemed no different from any other at the time. Holidays pass by unnoticed over here half the time. I am glad to hear you enjoyed it though, I would like to see you dressed as a planet, I suspect it would be quite amusing for me. I hope your kids were not too out of control when they showed up leaden with candy on the first of this month._

_Halloween was always one of my favorite holidays. Even as a teenager I always found myself wanting to dress up. I remember being angry with my uncle when he told me I was too old for trick-or-treating. I would probably still dress up and go searching for candy if I didn't have the knowledge that it isn't deemed socially acceptable. I think the very last costume I ever wore (and I was 16 at the time) was an alien. A very stereotypical alien too, all green skin and big eyes with frequent utterances of phrases like, "Take me to your leader."_

_Your sister has someone new? Is this someone you approve of or did you need to have a few choice words with him about treating her right? I do hope that you don't grow lonely now that Raven is off gallivanting with a new beau._

_Please, drone to me about all the nonsense you can think of. I love hearing (or reading I suppose) your nonsense. There is very little nonsense here, every day is remarkably like the one before and I long to hear stories of a life that actually changes from one day to the next. I assure you I am glad to hear of everything from your children to your sister to the color of your socks. There is nothing that would bore me._

_As far as I am aware, my teeth are not pointed. I believe I just show too many of them when I smile and that apparently terrifies the new recruits. I find it helps me get their respect faster when they fear I could eat them. I included a picture for you, just because I feel my grin is far better seen than explained._

_Despite your words, I will still apologize for worrying you. Even if it is in your nature, I still wish that I were not the cause of some of it. I consider you a friend as well and I am not in the habit of worrying my friends._

_Germany. I remember more about it than I care to sometimes. The first few years of my life were fine, but when the war started it got a bit uglier for people like me._

_So you are a well-traveled man it seems. Do you have anywhere in particular you would go if you had the ability? I myself would like to visit Greece one day. I think it would be remarkable to stand among the ruins of a civilization and try to piece together what their lives were like._

_There is nothing to forgive, you spoke from your own experience and I cannot fault you for that. If our positions were reversed I am sure I too would find it hard to truly realize how inevitable death can be over here. If nothing else, I can assure you I am probably far too stubborn to die. Perhaps that knowledge will ease the words I have to share next._

_I don't know if I ever mentioned it, but my tour started here last November, and by all rights I would have been sent home in a little under a month. Recent events have made me quite unwilling to leave yet though and I have volunteered for a second tour. If nothing else, I like to think my being here means one less young man who has to come over and fight unwillingly. Far better that I remain here than that I allow someone else to be drafted into this life. Given your previously stated penchant for worry, I fear that the news of my decision may be unwelcome to you and I am sorry for that, my friend._

_I have a favor to ask of you, and I dearly hope that it is not an inconvenience. I have gathered through these past months that you enjoy our correspondence and I wondered if it would be too troublesome to maintain this contact through another half of a year. I do not know what I would do for those months if I didn't have your words to keep me sane._

_I have heard of Lewis' stories but not yet had the pleasure of reading them. Don't apologize that they are children's books, I often find children's books are more pleasurable than adult novels because they are not restricted by the rules of the world which adults so adamantly insist be followed._

_I seem to have prattled on again about a lot of nonsense; I confess I am using you as a distraction from the rest of my life at the moment. I hope you'll forgive me for that._

_Your ridiculously long-winded soldier,_

_Erik_

  



	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to my fabulous Charles for a wonderful chapter.

He'd been in a right foul mood for the better part of three weeks, a common symptom of visits to Westchester. The agreement had been in place for half a decade: He and Raven were to spend Thanksgiving at the mansion - _for appearance's sake, of course. They simply could not have the neighbors thinking they were anything less than the perfect WASP family_ \- and they were free to celebrate Christmas as they pleased. Conceding, Charles had decided, was the lesser of two evils. Far better to suffer through a single dinner than to have pursed lips and narrowed eyes turn up (God forbid) at the flat unannounced.

Yes, the well-aired young blue blood had mastered the art of keeping his two worlds separate. Unfortunately, the memory of Kurt's poorly veiled judgment and Sharon's general disinterest tended to linger. Charles loved his family. He did. But with the arm's-length affection typically reserved for distant relatives. The less time he spent with them, the further his fondness for them extended. It was a foolproof equation, really.

Work had done little to lift his drooping spirits. As much as he loved his job and treasured each and every one of his students, that particular time of year could be quite taxing. Winter holiday was fast approaching. There were tests to give, units to complete and festivities to plan. With each passing day, the children grew more excitable and difficult to manage. He did not blame them, of course, but that did not mean he hadn't considered hurling chalk on more than one occasion.

During such instances of melancholy - _gloom seeping into his every waking thought like fog over still waters_ \- he typically sought solace on the isle of Raven's sunny disposition. As of late, however, his bright eyed and golden haired sanctuary had been perpetually attached at the hip with one Hank McCoy. Charles refused to regret giving the relationship his blessing. Raven was happy, happier than she'd been in ages, and that was enough to coax a distant smile to her brother's face. Still, he would miss that sense of… _solidarity_.

Throughout all of it, Erik remained a constant. At any given time, Charles could find himself strengthened, comforted, or chagrined by thoughts of his dear soldier. Staff Sergeant Lehnsherr, bold of spirit and kind of heart, shouldered not only his own burden, but those of his men, miles from home, trapped beneath a boiling sun. How petty of Mister Xavier to complain about his family. At least he _had_ a family!

It was that firm self-admonishment that kept his placated smile in place until the next letter arrived. Charles retreated to his bedroom, giddy as a schoolboy, with the envelope balanced reverently on his open palms. The habitual practice of heart-thrumming hesitance was forgotten, freckled fingers making quick work of the weathered paper, eyes drinking in that familiar script.

Slowly, and with the gentle hiss of a deflating balloon, all of the air left his lungs. The words, thick and spiteful as a serpent, had curled their way about his chest, making breathing an impossibility. A second tour? And after Charles had all but begged the man to keep himself safe? He sank onto the bed, heedless of what else those pages may have said as he pressed them to his chest.

A flutter of white caught his eye and he bent to retrieve it, more out of reflex than actual desire. He'd forgotten what had been written before the blow of Erik's extended service had been leveled. For the second time that evening, the educator found himself stunned breathless. His soldier was _beautiful_. It was more than the God-carved features and razor sharp jawline. An inexplicable warmth behind that - _admittedly toothy_ \- smile drew him like siren song.

Casting aside his own senselessly perceived slight, Charles took pen to paper once more.

_December 7, 1960_

_Dear Erik,_

_It seems another holiday has passed since I last wrote. It's a dreadful shame that you aren't given much by way of festivities. I'll have to send along a package of sun-dried cranberries to compensate. Regrettably, Thanksgiving was rather uneventful here. I've never been particularly fond of this time of year, as things can be a bit tense about the Xavier household. I much prefer the frivolity of Halloween. I got a lovely chuckle out of picturing you bedecked in vivid green._

_Apropos, thank you so much for the photograph. Your smile is lovely and not at all as frightening as I imagined. Something tells me that you offer your subordinates another grin entirely. It's odd, I had always envisioned you as a seasoned veteran, but you couldn't be a day over thirty. In a gesture of parity, I've dug up an old photo of my own to send to you. I've been implored to explain that it is my sister's_ _favourite_ _picture. I believe we were on holiday in Versailles when it was taken, but I can't be positive._

_Raven has indeed taken up a little flirtation. More than a flirtation, if I'm being honest with myself. He's a coworker of mine, actually. A good man. Kind and honest. I must say that though I fully support the match, she has been awfully difficult to get hold of lately. Our flat seems dishearteningly empty without her constant badgering. I am happy for her, however. Truly. He's been good for her._

_If you insist, my friend, I shall continue to recount the fascinating adventures of a New York schoolteacher. It's rather flattering, actually, your interest in my mundane goings on. At present, there isn't much to report. The children have been helping to decorate our classroom for the winter. If I never see another paper snowflake, I will be quite content. Also, today's socks are blue and grey argyle. Fascinating, I know._

_It seems that you are just as bullheaded as I am, Erik. As unnecessary as it may be, I accept your apology. Thank you for thinking well enough of me to write and assure that you are indeed alive and well. It's truthfully all that I ask of you. Though, I would not object to hearing more about your life. I find it quite compelling._

_In a not-at-all subtle segue, I venture to ask you more about your time in Germany. That is, if it isn't too terribly forward of me. You mentioned that the war became troublesome for 'people like you'. Are you of the Jewish faith, Erik? I am almost too terrified to hear the answer. I can't imagine what life must have been like during such a time. Please, feel free to tell me if it is not my place. I only wish to understand you better._

_On a less somber note, I have done my fair share of traveling. Things have slowed considerably in recent years, what with the children and all, but I do have plans to see more of the world. Honestly, I would like to visit any and everywhere. Greece sounds unutterably beautiful. I've also always wanted to see the ruins in Peru. Something about fresh mountain air and unfathomable history at one's fingertips just seems inviting, no?_

_It would be dishonest of me to say that I wasn't disappointed to find that you were extending your tour, but I do not hold it against you. If anything, I admire your tenacity and bravery. You are a strong man, my friend. Stronger than most. Do promise me that you will look after yourself? I can take comfort in knowing that you are doing your utmost to endure until this dreadful war is over._

_You needn't have asked if I would continue our correspondence. I spoke truthfully when I said that I love hearing from you. It is a comfort to know that such good, such warmth, exists in the world. Writing to you could never be an inconvenience and I will blather on about my life and my work until you ask me otherwise. I am your friend, Erik. And I will be your friend for as long as you'll have me._

_I believe I hear Raven coming in just now. It would be best to catch her before she saunters off again. Feel free to offer any suggestions on which novels you'd like next. I have a virtually limitless supply. I pray this letter finds you well, my friend._

_Your scatter-brained yet well intentioned teacher,_ _  
__Charles_

__


	12. Chapter 12

December 5th came and passed just like any other for the rest of his men, but Erik felt it like a solid blow as he marked the day on the calendar and crossed out the circle around the date that had once meant he was done fighting. Thirteen months in this place had veritably flown by, but somehow they had also seemed to drag. Time was funny that way. Regardless, that little circle on his calendar no longer meant the end of his service; it just marked yet another day.

Six months more and he would once again face the decision of leaving or volunteering for another tour. Erik had meant what he said to Charles, it seemed far more fair for him to be here fighting than for some eighteen year old pulled in by a draft. Erik's presence, Erik's _life_ , could very well mean the survival of another.

It felt like he had lost part of himself in these swamps, but in truth Erik suspected he had lost himself long before Vietnam and perhaps it was only here in the jungle that he had found himself again. Or maybe he had truly found himself in the thin pieces of paper scrawled with ink that he looked forward to with every new day.

Erik wished a thousand times that mail could be delivered faster out here. Of course, he understood the difficulty of international mail, especially when being thrown into an active war-zone, but that didn't make the wait between letters any easier. Far too often Erik's fingers twitched for a pen when he wanted to share something with Charles.

Those were most often the moments when instead of grabbing paper, Erik would reach into his pocket and clutch his hand around the single black pawn that still remained of his chess set. The sloping contours were starting to wear smooth from the number of times Erik's fingers had ghosted across their surface. He wasn't even certain anymore who he was mourning with the solitary playing piece. Logan had been such a fleeting part of his life, bright but brilliant. Perhaps what he truly mourned was the loss of yet another connection to the world.

As the months had passed, Erik couldn't deny that he felt his humanity slipping away as he became more disconnected with the lives around him. Logan, the chess set, they had been something _real_. Now Charles was the only reality again and Erik felt grief and guilt in equal measure at the knowledge that he had so easily discarded the chess set which had spurred their friendship. A single pawn in no way made up for the entire set, just as Erik's tentative ties to reality in no way made up for the life he once had.

Another week passed, the days melding together into a long stream of heat and mud, and Erik was surprised to find another package from Charles far sooner than he expected. He supposed the looming holidays likely meant mail carriers were working harder than usual to deliver letters to the troops.

He could feel something more in the envelope than usual, so before he even glanced at the letter itself Erik grabbed up what he discovered to be a photograph. One that took his breath away. Surely this young man couldn't be the teacher he had been writing to all this time. Erik set the picture aside gently as he read through the words that Charles had, as always, so carefully penned for him. He gave a fond smile as the teacher spoke of his life and the children.

An idea sparked in Erik's mind at a particular sentence. He nabbed the small knife from inside his pocket and flipped it open as he reached for a blank piece of paper. It took a few tries, but Erik managed to make a passable piece of art with the blade. It would never be as nice as one made with scissors, but it would do. With a grin, Erik set to work making more.

Satisfied with the small pile, he grabbed another piece of paper as he slid the knife back into his pocket. This time it was a pen he attacked the paper with and he let himself spill over into the private little world that belonged to just him and Charles.

_December 16, 1960_

_Charles,_

_You are, of course, correct. It is a shame that the holiday festivities do not touch us here. I have made an effort to amend this in a way I believe you will appreciate. Seeing your expressed love of paper snowflakes I simply could not resist giving you more of them. I'm sure these do not compare to the one's your students have graced you with, but clearly you needed more of them in your life so I decided that it was for a good cause. Remember, I am merely being festive, my friend._

_Would it be too terribly intrusive of me to ask exactly why the holidays are tense in the Xavier household? Raven sounds like a wonderful girl so I suspect that perhaps it is the rest of your family that causes the tension you are referring to. I hope you can still enjoy yourself regardless._

_Just as you pictured me a seasoned veteran, I confess I pictured you as a tenured teacher with far more years on you. I guess it hadn't ever occurred to either of us to inquire about something as simple as age. I am 25, though I will be 26 in January. I enlisted at 18 so I have had many years to work my way to the command position I hold. I recall you saying you attended both Harvard and Oxford, you must have completed them both very young if you are a teacher already. I fear I may have been speaking with a man far smarter than myself and I hope I haven't made it too obvious that I am beneath your intelligence level._

_For the sake of an even exchange of information, my socks are white. Or at least they used to be. Everything becomes rather brown out here no matter how many times they are washed._

_That was perhaps the least subtle segue I have ever encountered, though the fact that you announced it as such likely did not help your cause. About Germany, asking about it is not too forward. It is far from pleasant, but I do recall saying once that I felt I could tell you anything. I stand by that and if you truly wish to know I will share it with you. As you fear, my family was of the Jewish faith. I was around six when our neighbors decided to reveal our heritage to the SS Officers. Suffice to say I much prefer the camp I live in now over the one we were shipped to back then. The horrors of that place are something I regret to say I often relieve in dreams even now._

_I made it out four year later, but neither of my parents were as lucky. I have mentioned my aunt and uncle before; they were not in fact related by blood. They were the ones who took me under their protection, as best they could, during those long years. When the war ended and the camps were emptied, they waited until I was healthy enough to travel and then we fled to America._

_I hope you one day get to see both Greece and Peru, as well as anywhere else you desire. The world has so much to offer and you seem the type that could truly appreciate all the wonders that you encountered. From what I gather of your optimism, I believe you could even find something about Vietnam that you liked. You would be the first._

_Yes, Charles, I will of course look after myself. If I can stay alive through a 13 month tour I don't imagine there is much more harm another 6 months could cause. Besides, it would be a shame to die. If I were to die, I would miss talking to you. If it is possible, I believe I would like to spend the rest of my life hearing you, "blather on," about your life. I find I have grown rather more attached to you than I expected and I intend to remain friends with you until the day you get fed up with me._

_Your friend,_

_Erik_

_ _


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another heartfelt thank you to askprofessorx for this Charles chapter.
> 
> Also, this chapter has a soundtrack. Go listen to the song "Beside You" by Marianas Trench and cry because that is the song that askprofessorx says Charles would send to Erik if he could.

Exhaustion had curled around him like an embrace, bone deep and inescapable. Charles was certain he would need no less than the entire month of January to reclaim his runaway vitality. Bears had quite the solid strategy, with the whole hibernation thing. If the professor could afford to sleep an entire season away, he might have taken it under consideration.

Fortunately enough, he was able to bear the fatigue quite comfortably. December had brought on a whirlwind of activity, carrying him from one task to the next with little time for reprieve, but he could not bring himself to regret any of it. As promised, the season had delivered cheer and good tidings. Charles could not have asked for a finer holiday.

The end of fall term had not been as arduous as he'd feared. His children, eyes alight with fear of coal-stuffed stockings, had been the picture of little angels. They flew through the final units with little more than a nudge, their marks the highest they'd been all year. With a smile that rivaled the twinkling lights piped along the walls of the tiny classroom like cake frosting, and filled to bursting with pride, the kindly young professor showered his students with the best that winter had to offer. Glitter drenched projects and impromptu snowball fights left him drained and grinning at the end of each day.

Raven was little help in the effort to catch up on sleep, dragging him off to parties every other night. She'd even managed to convince the ever-asocial Mr. McCoy to join them at the staff holiday celebration. Attending, Charles discovered, had been his best decision in a great long while. Over mugs of eggnog and frosted sugar cookies, the principal introduced them all to the newest member of their quaint little faculty family. As sharp of wit as she was warm of countenance, Ms. MacTaggert had drawn him in like the tide.

The pair became fast friends. If Moira wasn't pouring over potential lesson plans on his sofa, then Charles was sipping peppermint tea in her neat little townhouse. It was nice having another adult to talk to, and one that understood the intricacies of being an educator, no less! Even the contented silences they so frequently fell into were never lacking. Moira had filled, at least in part, that aching void of companionship.

His burgeoning comradery in no way steered Charles' thoughts away from his dear Sergeant. If anything, his mind drifted overseas more often, stealing glances of the treasured photograph he'd tucked into his billfold. He longed to share the odd joke or amusing little anecdote, scribbling them down on bits of this and that so as not to be forgotten. He'd even enlisted Moira's assistance in hunting for the perfect gift to send with his latest letter. If it had not been for her keen eye, he never would have found the ornament. Solid silver and bedecked with a ribbon of crimson satin, the tiny King fit comfortably in his palm. He couldn't be certain what Erik would _do_ with such a bauble in the jungles of Vietnam, but he thought it might bring a smile to his face. That had been reason enough.

Christmas had passed enjoyably. As tradition commanded, he and Raven cradled steaming cups of cocoa from the comfort of his window ledge, watching the city in all of its grey-slush glory. They'd saved the exchanging gifts for later in the day, Hank and Moira arriving within moments of one another. Laughter filled the cluttered flat with more heat than any crackling fire ever could. His sister had managed to get them all besotted enough to believe that caroling was a fine idea. Pink-cheeked and warm with liquor and good company, they had belted out warbling renditions of Silent Night and Jingle Bells until sunset.

Brilliant as his holiday had been, Charles' best gift did not arrive until the following day. With a smile as dazzling as sunlight glinting off of fresh snow, he tore open the tattered envelope before he'd even managed to shut the door. The front hall erupted in a flurry of white and he gasped aloud. It took a moment for the teacher to realize that the bits off paper that patterned his plush carpet were in fact snowflakes, and a moment longer to realize _why_. He laughed - _the clear, full bodied convulsion he so rarely allowed himself_ \- earning an inquisitive eyebrow from Raven. "That cheeky bastard."

With promises to reveal all later, Charles scooped up the collection of cutouts and all but sprinted to his bedroom. Erik's letter left him brimming with joy, and he wasted no time digging for his holiday cards, the bright blue stock trimmed with snowflakes (naturally). His smile never faded as he began his eager scrawl.

_December 26, 1960_

_Happy Christmas, Erik!_

_Or perhaps Happy Hanukkah would be more appropriate? I realize that I never asked you what you do or do not celebrate. I suppose Season's Greetings works as well as anything. Season's Greetings, my friend! It seems that we share not only a stubborn streak, but similar tastes in humour. I was absolutely delighted to receive your lovely snowflakes. The flashbacks they brought of tiny, glitter-doused hands were_ _oh-so_ _pleasant. Your festiveness is to be envied and I am deeply grateful that you decided to share that with me._

_Once again, the pace of the postal system leaves me offering belated well-wishes. I hope that you and your troops were offered at least a kind word on so cherished a day. I'd hate to think that it passed by as unnoticed as any other holiday. I have sent along a little something to bring a shark-like smile to your face. Do let me know if you've frightened any more of your men with that grin. The idea still tickles me._

_I could hardly hold your inquisitiveness against you, my friend. I have badgered you about your past on more than one occasion now. Yes, Raven is more dear to me than anyone on this Earth, but I regret to say that I cannot extend the same sentiment to the rest of my family. You see, my mother remarried soon after my father's death; my stepfather was never particularly welcoming to his new children, nor his own son to his siblings. Things have grown less — combative, over recent years, but the memories still linger. I've long since forgiven any transgressions, but I doubt that my sister ever will. At any rate, that was so very long ago. I tend not to dwell on such things._

_In an effort to speak of more pleasant matters, Christmas was lovely here. My sister, her beau, and a new friend of ours decided to spend the holiday together. I think you'd be really fond of Moira. She's a darling woman and absolutely hilarious. She has actually been hired to teach a class of fourth years at my school. You have her to thank for the tin of peppermint I've packaged along with your gift._

_Oh! I feel I should also mention that my socks are bedecked with tiny snowmen. Ridiculous accessories, but they were a gift from Raven._

_I find it terribly amusing that you also pictured me as well out of my prime. My friends and family often refer to me as an 'old fart'. I'm certain they'd say that you weren't so terribly off-base. I'm twenty three, actually. I was accepted to Harvard at sixteen, but I'm not nearly as intelligent as all that. I merely spent most of my childhood with my nose buried in a book. I dropped out of Oxford (much to my stepfather's dismay) during my first semester and have been teaching ever since._

_Oh, Erik. I am debating whether I am more heartbroken to hear of your experiences, or proud that you managed to overcome them and emerge as fine a man as you are today. Forgive me for the bluntness of my question and thank you for trusting me enough to share that part of yourself. I will never take that for granted. Your aunt and uncle sound like incredible people. I am sure that you were beyond grateful to have them. Family has always run more deeply than blood, to me._

_I pray that you are able to see all that the world has to offer as well, my friend. Something tells me that you would appreciate the beauty that can be found as much as I do. Who knows? Perhaps we will pass one another on some future holiday. Stranger coincidences have been known to happen._

_Your words humble me, my dear soldier. I would hardly give so much merit to my idle ramblings but I will certainly continue to offer them. I deeply appreciate your promise to keep yourself as safe as possible. I am holding you to your word. I am sure we will be friends for a great long while._

_It seems that I am running out of space on the card. That's as good a sign as any that I should bring this letter to a close. As always, I hope this letter finds you quite content. Stay well, my friend!_

_With warmest regards,_ _  
_ _Charles_

__


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been warned by my Charles that there will be angst impending so enjoy the fluff of this chapter while you can.

Erik vaguely recalled Christmas the previous year, how it had come and gone with hardly any notice at all. This year he spent half the day drifting to thoughts of what Charles might be doing with the day. More than once he found himself pulling the picture out of his pocket and staring at it, smoothing the edges down and being careful not to let the mud get anywhere near the bright smile that shone back at him.

It wasn't perhaps the most festive way to celebrate Christmas, but Erik enjoyed it all the same. There was an odd peace in the jungle that day and Erik wasn't going to complain about it. Just to make Charles proud (because he knew that the teacher would likely want him to actually celebrate in some way) Erik barged into the cook tent uninvited and spent nearly an hour utilizing the cooking skills that had been mostly unused in this wilderness.

It wasn't a feast, but with Erik's touch the usual rations still somehow transformed into something that tasted good. A few of his men grumbled good-naturedly at him for not helping out in the kitchen sooner. One private, Scott, even dared to throw a spoon at him and demand that he cook more often. Even the pair that usually prepared meals for the camp shot Erik a few pleading looks and asked him to help more often when he had time.

Erik reminded himself that he would have to share this moment with Charles, after all it was the teacher's fault that it had happened. He couldn't find it in himself to be annoyed at it though, something about the lighter tones and the better food really did help make it seem like Christmas.

They had another few days of relative quiet before another ambush hit, but Erik and his men took only minimal damage so he counted it as a win. The New Year was fast approaching and Erik once again found his mind trailing away across the ocean. What would the teacher be doing for the holiday? Was he enjoying the time off from teaching? Had he gotten Erik's letter yet?

The sergeant let out a brief laugh that he tried to cover with a cough as he pictured the look on Charles' face when the snowflakes came tumbling out of the envelope. Even a few weeks later he was still quite proud of that idea, and rather proud of how the snowflakes had turned out. Who knew you could make a decent paper flake with a cheap pocket knife?

There were no fireworks in the jungles for the New Year, but Erik still watched the seconds tick by until midnight and when the moment came he made a few resolutions that he desperately hoped he would be able to keep. That he would survive this war, that he would keep his men alive, that he would one day see Charles' smile in person and play that long-owed game of chess.

He wasn't certain when exactly his decision to not return to the states had shifted. Somehow they held far more appeal to him now despite the bad memories. He wondered if Charles would still want to be friends once he had the chance to meet Erik in person. He was well aware that the negatives hardly carried across on the paper and he feared that when the barrier of an ocean no longer existed Charles would see him for who he really was.

Stubborn, prideful, poor tempered, and far less friendly to most people than he was to Charles.

It wasn't exactly the recipe for a good companion.

By the time the next letter came, Erik had forgotten half the things he wanted to share with Charles and come up with a dozen more things to share instead. He opened the letter right at the mess hall table and read it over with hungry eyes. His face split into a grin, the shark-like one that made his men shrink back a little, as he devoured each word and soaked up the joy he felt at hearing from the teacher again.

Curious hands finally got around to putting the letter aside and opening the small parcel that had been sent with, he ignored the peppermints and instead let his hand curl around the smooth silver chess piece. He lifted it reverently from the box and ran slender fingers along the red ribbon tied to the top. The shark grin faded into a softer smile that he would have been embarrassed about if he wasn't so consumed with the small ornament in his hand. The light reflected off the silver surface and Erik felt the breath catch in his throat as he tried to figure out how something so beautiful could ever belong in a place like this.

He hurriedly finished his meal and retreated to his own tent (after doling out some of the peppermints to his troops). He sat for a few moments, rolling the silver King around and staring at it with the same soft smile. Then, regretfully, he had to put the piece down so that he could pen his own letter in return.

_January 8_ _th_ _1961_

_Happy New Year, Charles,_

_Can you believe it's been nearly a year since your first letter? I feel like it was such a short time ago, but in the same instant I feel as if I've known you all my life. I don't believe I would be wrong in saying that friendships like this do not usually happen, and I am glad that by some miracle ours did._

_It's a bit late, but Merry Christmas to you as well, my friend. I am pleased that you liked my snowflakes, I worked quite hard on them. I am frankly surprised I was able to cram as many as I did into that one small envelope. I do hope there were enough of them. As far as holidays go, Christmas is the one I celebrate; I haven't celebrated Hanukkah since the days when I still lived in Germany._

_On the topic of Christmas, I do believe I have you to blame for the fact that my troops are slowly starting to actually like me. I fear I made the mistake of infiltrating the kitchen and helping make our Christmas meal somewhat more edible than most of our food. That, coupled I'm sure with the fact that I keep sharing the treats you send, seems to have made them decide I actually have a heart. Which is of course a ghastly thing for them to think and I cannot forgive you for it. Even the grin I gave when I got your letter only scared a few men. I am clearly losing my touch._

_The ornament is stunning, Charles. On the one hand I am afraid to even handle it because I don't want the swamp to corrupt its beauty, but on the other hand I can't keep my hands off it. I think I must have reached out to touch it at least three times just in the space of writing this letter. Truly, thank you. I wish I could send you something back that would mean as much, but all I have to offer is leaves and dirt._

_Would you like a mudball? I'm sure I could send you one of those. There's plenty of mud around._

_I wish that I had words to ease the pain of a broken family, but I am afraid I don't. I only wish that you hadn't gone through that. You once again seem to prove yourself a better man than me though by forgiving whatever wrongs were done. I find it remarkably difficult to let go of the hurts that have been done to me. I've held many grudges and most of them are still lurking in the back of my mind._

_Thank Moira for the peppermints, I shared them (again erasing my credibility as the stoic leader of this troop)._

_Somehow I am less than surprised that you would wear socks with snowmen on them. I like Raven all the more for gifting you something like that. She is likely well aware that you couldn't turn down any gift from her. I gather from our letters that there is very little you wouldn't do for your sister._

_Despite your protests, I am going to stick resolutely to my opinion that you must be a genius. Many kids spend their formative years buried in books and most do not get accepted to Harvard at 16._

_You don't need to be either heartbroken or proud for the things I went through. Neither emotion will change what happened. I don't like to think of my words saddening your heart and pride has no place in that part of my life, it was luck that I survived and it was the love of my adoptive family that got me through it. You attach too much of the credit to me and I assure you I deserve none of it and thus none of your pride._

_We may pass each other on some holiday in some other country in the future, but I hope to take you up on that offer of chess in New York someday as well. The longer I spend getting to know you the more I feel that there may be something for me to come home to when I leave here. The thought of returning to the states doesn't seem to fill me with the dread that it once did._

_You said you liked strawberries, right? I've just discovered that there is a place not far from here that sells them. If I get a spare few days I will go buy some and you will certainly come to mind as I enjoy them. I'd offer to send a few but I think that the sentiment would be rather lessened by the fact that they would be rotten by the time they arrived._

_Did anything exciting happen on New Year's for you? It was quiet here but I spent time wondering if you were perhaps watching fireworks and toasting the holiday with friends. Did you make any resolutions? I made a few but I am told it is bad luck to tell someone your resolutions so you will have to simply wonder._

_I'm sure I could find more things to talk about, but I should probably be getting ready for bed so I will stop._

_Thank you again for the present,_

_Your friend,_

_Erik_


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, a fantastic chapter from my Charles, askprofessorx. I cannot thank her enough, she is a fabulous co-author.
> 
> Also, a GIANT thank you to thehouseofwholock for drawing not one, but TWO pieces of beautiful art for this fic. Check them out, they are amazing.
> 
> http://thehouseofwholock.tumblr.com/image/93511263251  
> http://thehouseofwholock.tumblr.com/post/93683384801/more-doodlet-for-gnaahhh

Charles curled atop the navy expanse of his bedspread, fully clothed, pressing that crumpled envelope to his chest like a lifeline. Shelter from the storm. The cheerful din of the city outside was a welcome change to the creaking old bones of his childhood home, cruelly reminding him of faded scars and lonely nights with its every groan. He wouldn't go back there, not so long as he could help it. Whatever lines had tethered him to Westchester were severed forever.

Tragedy, cunning serpent that it was, made no announcement before it struck. Charles had welcomed the New Year with more gaiety than he'd had in a great long while. The spacious flat bubbled with laughter and expensive champagne. Hank, Moira, and a passel of Raven's socialite friends had danced and chattered, shouting drunken resolutions into the crisp winter air until the sun crested the horizon.

The call had come just before the start of spring term, tearing the pillars of all he'd ever known down about his ears. In all honesty, it should not have come as much of a surprise, Sharon falling ill. If there hadn't been a wine glass pinched between her elegant fingers, then she was sipping daintily from a bottomless tumbler of gin. It was a miracle that her liver had held out for as long as it had.

Whether it was love or loyalty that carried him back to the mansion, Charles could not be certain. What he did know was that his mother detested hospitals, and Kurt could hardly be trusted to look after her properly. Though it pained him to leave his students behind, the young teacher made all of the necessary plans for them to be looked after in his absence. He loved his job, yes, but he owed at least his presence to the woman who had given him life.

Things at the mansion were worse off than he'd expected. While the walls of that grand old house had never been particularly welcoming, they had always been home. Now, something icy and unfamiliar clung to every portrait, every handsomely upholstered piece of furniture. Charles felt as isolated as ever, without even the ever-stubborn Raven to share the burden. He'd always known that Kurt only married Sharon for her late husband's fortune - _cold to the point of heartlessness, he'd turn wintry rage on his own flesh and blood if the mood struck_ \- but for him not to be present at all! Inaccessible as she was, not even Mrs. Marko deserved to suffer alone.

True to his word, Charles sat vigil at his mother's bedside until she passed just shy of a month later. Silent and removed though the days had been -the calm only broken by the soft bustle of the nurse- an odd sort of peace had settled between parent and child. Any bitterness between them had been forgotten in those quiet hours. Sharon was at peace, and little else mattered.

Funeral planning would unfortunately be lonely business as well. Kurt had possessed decency enough to return home for the service, but his involvement began and ended there. Raven had outright refused to attend. She'd never quite forgiven Sharon for her years of indifference and Charles couldn't bring himself to hold it against her. She hadn't had the privileged of knowing the warmth their mother had shown when her heart still remained whole. He stood by with rod-backed pride until the last of the earth had been overturned, eyes red rimmed and shadowed, but dry as a bone.

Through all of it, he'd drawn strength from his dearest soldier. Erik had lost his parents as well, had withstood more suffering than most people could ever imagine. Yet and still, he was stronger and more brave than any man Charles had ever known. Erik would understand. His words would set the world right again.

He'd returned to the flat, a bit worse for wear, but eager to fall into the familiar comfort of his routine. Though things had been tense between them since their last phone call, Raven had placed the tatty envelope on his pillow for safekeeping. Charles had all but collapsed when he'd seen it, a rush of heat filling his chest that was welcome after so many weeks of measured coolness.

Charles lay clutching that letter for what felt like ages before he gathered strength enough to read it. A smile he was beginning to suspect was reserved especially for Erik tugged at the corners of his mouth and it was with good spirits that he went out to purchase new stationary and a festive surprise for his dear friend. It was the best he'd felt in a long time, and he had Erik alone to thank for that.

_February 12, 1961_

_My dear Erik,_

_A Happy New Year to you as well, my friend! Though, I believe that Happy Valentine's Day would be a more appropriate greeting at this time. Do forgive me for the tardiness of my response. My mother passed quite recently and I have been away from home. I never thought that planning a funeral could be quite so taxing. My preoccupation aside, I was beyond thrilled to hear from you. Would it be an odd sentiment to say that I've missed you?_

_Words cannot describe how giddy I was to hear that your men have warmed to their stoic Sergeant Lehnsherr. I will bear the blame for that change quite happily, thanks. Ridiculous as it may seem, I laughed aloud to hear of you whipping up a Christmas feast of sorts. There is a picture book that I read to my children every year about that time._ _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ _. Perhaps you've heard of it? If not, I will happily send a copy along with my next letter. I can imagine you, shark smiled and proud, bringing holiday cheer and lifting the spirits of your brave men. Come to think of it, I may have to share this with my students. It will be a lovely little anecdote for my return this week._

_Speaking of festivities, I do hope you enjoyed the tiny paper valentines that I included in this letter. I haven't forgotten your endlessly thoughtful snowflake gesture and figured I might return the favour. I know how fond you are of holiday spirit._

_It warms my heart to know you appreciated the ornament. To be perfectly honest with you, I was a bit concerned with my choice of gift. I couldn't begin to fathom what someone in your position might want (aside from clean socks, perhaps) but when I saw that proud little king, I instantly thought of you. Thanks are hardly necessary, but you are very welcome nonetheless._

_My friend, you are quite right in assuming that there is nothing I would not do for my dear little sister and I'm afraid she knows it all too well. She's all I have left in the world now. Forgive me, but the topic of family is a sensitive one at the moment. I'd rather not dwell._

_Far be it from me to sully your visions of a certified genius writing to you from half the world away. If you insist that I must be more intelligent than the average man, I will not argue. Though, I fear that you will be sorely disappointed if you're expecting any life-altering insight._

_I do understand that my feelings about your experiences will not change them in the least, but I cannot help them. You are my friend, Erik, and I do not take hearing of your troubles lightly. I only give credit where credit is due and surviving,_ _thriving_ _, as you have, is no small feat. Please do not sell yourself short._

_Oh! Erik, your words have brought me more joy than I could ever hope to express. As promised, I kept the chessboard set with the belief that you might one day change your mind and decide to visit our humble little flat. Have I mentioned that I am impossibly stubborn? It's something you should know about me, my friend. I am holding you to this, and pray that your tour passes swiftly._

_My New Year was lovely, thank you. Raven threw a small party at the flat. It was good fun and I am chagrined to admit that any resolutions I may have made have long since been forgotten. I rather shamelessly consumed my weight in champagne that evening. If I piece together any more details, you will be the first to know._

_I'm afraid I've babbled on for an eternity once more. It has gotten rather late here and I only just realized how tired I am. I could sleep for a bloody week. As always, I hope that this letter finds you safe, happy and healthy. I look forward to hearing from you!_

_With love,_ _  
_ _Charles_

_P.S. I do love strawberries! More than any person should, actually. Enjoy them, my friend!_

__


	16. Chapter 16

This had not gone at all the way he expected. Not only the day itself, which had been its own brand of surprising, but the entire Vietnam experience. Erik had come thinking that it would just be another miserable part of his life, more blood and death to add to the pages of his history. And there had been plenty of that, as expected. But mixed in with it he had inexplicably, and against his wishes, found happiness.

It snuck up on him slowly. At first the happiness only seemed to exist on the crumpled pages of Charles’ letters. Then gradually and so subtly that Erik hardly even noticed it, the happiness bled over until he started finding it with his troops as well. The stories of home that everyone shared, the moments of laughter and jokes, the intense trust from one man to the next that came inevitably with putting your life in someone else’s hands. Erik thought he existed on the edges of that joyful camaraderie and he hadn’t even realized that he was lonely until the moment he quite suddenly caught on to the fact that he had been pulled into the middle of the make-shift family these men had created.

Erik was many things, but good at noticing social cues was often not one of them. As he traipsed through the mud, following the directions scrawled on a small scrap of muddy paper, Erik had every reason to believe he was heading to a nearby village. A village with a market that sold strawberries. It seemed feasible. There were many small villages in this area and Erik had no idea what climate a strawberry would grow in so this seemed as good as any.

The closer he got though, the more he started to connect the fact that he was nowhere near anything resembling civilization. By the time he stepped into the clearing his directions had led him to (noticeably _not_ a village anywhere in sight) Erik was only a little surprised to see most of his men scattered around playing cards and talking amongst themselves. When they noticed him, the laughter was immediate and it swept through every single one of them.

Scott was the first to approach him, clapping a hand on his back and bursting out with, “Took you long enough to get here, You should see your face! I can’t believe you thought you could actually get strawberries in ‘Nam.”

He tried to be angry, the scowl on his face faltered in moments though and despite the burning embarrassment he found himself giving in and laughing right along with them. That was the moment he realized that he actually liked these men. Somewhere along the line, they had become more than just men under his command. They were a family and without realizing it Erik had been included into it.

Looking around the clearing, Erik knew that he wouldn’t be able to leave them. Most of them were set to stay in these jungles long after Erik’s own tour ended and the thought of their lives being in someone else’s hands terrified him.

Erik lightly nudged Dean with his boot, making it clear that he should scoot over, and then Erik sat down in the mud and played card games with his men until the mosquitoes chased them all back to the camp. Warmth filled his chest that night at dinner as he let his gaze wander around the mess tent. This felt like home in a way that he never thought he would feel again.

When he picked up the mail a few weeks later and noticed the familiar handwriting of Charles, Erik knew that he had to once again tell his friend that he would be staying here instead of returning to the states. It wasn’t something he imagined would go over well. The usual elation that came with a letter from Charles was dampened by his own decision.

He stood up, heading away from the circle of laughter that his men had created, and ripped open the envelope, dropping it in surprise as red burst out at him. Erik stood in stunned silence while he watched a few small pieces drift lazily to the ground. Behind him he could hear the sudden quiet as everyone else looked curiously at the veritable explosion of tiny paper hearts.

Erik knelt down, grabbing the fallen letter in one hand and a few pieces of confetti in the other. A laugh started building up in him and within seconds it had burst out into the silence. It wasn’t his usual quiet chuckle, but a full- throated booming laugh that had him gasping for air. It lasted all the way into his tent and about half a paragraph into the letter. Then the sound faded away as he felt the mirth switch over into heartache.

He couldn’t help the flood of memories that hit him, distant foggy recollections of his own mother and how much it had hurt to lose her. To think Charles was feeling that same pain now… it wasn’t right. Erik had always thought of Charles as separate from all the pain and death that he experienced over here and the stark reminder that death still touched the rest of the world was like a physical blow to Erik.

His own mortality, and that of his men, was a reality that Erik lived with every day. The mortality of Charles and everyone else on the other side of the world was something he had done his best not to think about.

He read the rest of the letter with a morose sense of calm, his breath catching slightly and his eyes misting over for a moment when he saw the mention of an all-too familiar book. The memories that came this time were of a little girl laughing in his arms as he read to her about a Grinch learning how to care.

With a heavy heart, Erik picked up a pen and started his reply.

_March 2, 1961_

_My friend,_

_No words are enough to take away the pain that you must be feeling. I imagine the condolences of a soldier half a world away can do little to help you and your sister through this. I wish there was more I could do. I wish there was anything I could do. I’m sorry, for all my skill in fighting it seems I lack any skill at all in comforting. You probably have had more than enough people offering you their sympathy and I am more than aware of how that begins to only make it worse, so I won’t dwell on the topic._

_I don’t think it’s odd for you to say you missed me. At least I hope it isn’t odd, because I always miss you between letters. I even miss you when I have just gotten a letter. I’ve never even met you but I still somehow feel your absence all the time. Does that seem strange or is it normal between pen-pals? Between friends? Truthfully I don’t even know what word to affix to you because none of the ones I try seem to quite mean enough._

_I have discovered fairly recently that I seem to talk about you too much. In the final proof that my troops have stopped seeing me as some insurmountable evil, they played a practical joke on me. Apparently, I mention you often enough that they had learned of your taste for strawberries, my men thought it would be amusing to pretend I could actually get some. They assumed (correctly I must admit) that I would love to be able to tell you about indulging in your favorite treat, and I regret to say that there were definitely no strawberries. Only mud covered men having a laugh at my expense._

_Even more surprising, to me at least, was that I joined in. A year ago I think I would have made them give me 50 push-ups each and then sent them back to camp. I’m not the man I was when I first came here and to be honest that scares me a little. I never meant to get attached to these men. Then again I never meant to get attached to you either and yet here we are._

_I have heard of the book How the Grinch Stole Christmas. I used to read it to my daughter. However, her favorite book by Dr. Seuss was always Yertle the Turtle. I would read it to her every night, sometimes twice a night if she was feeling really demanding. She probably knew every word by heart by the time she died. I’m sorry, none of this is anything you want to hear right now. Forgive me. I don’t think I’ve talked to anyone about Anya in over a year, I don’t know why I had to choose now to start. You have your own pains to deal with and I have no right to drag up mine._

_Your, “Holiday Cheer,” was probably about as appreciated as my snowflakes were. I left most of them out in the dirt where they fell. I imagine my men are picking them up and laughing as I write this. I hope you know that those hearts will do very little to quell the rumors that my men have started up about you._

_That chess game I owe you, I know you were expecting it sometime in June but I may have to disappoint you yet again. I will still find my way to New York, that much I promise, but as time passes I am realizing that my job here isn’t done. I am needed here and, to be completely honest, there is no one in the states who needs me. I don’t have a family anymore. You are the only connection I even have over there and you have Raven and Moira who seem more than enough. I can’t imagine that there is any place that I could do more good than here where I can continue protecting my men with my life._

_I’m sorry. I truly am, and I know that the words may seem hollow now because I am well aware that my decision is not one you wanted to hear. I_ will _play that chess game with you. I don’t know when, but I give you my word that I will stay alive no matter what it takes and no matter how long I stay over here. I will stay alive and I will come to New York when my fight is done._

_I’m sorry,_

_Erik_


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Casually wandering back to this fic after more than a year of silence. My coauthor disappeared which left me without a Charles and I wasn't confident enough in my ability to write Charles myself to continue the story. The lovely Mormorella found me on Tumblr though and spurred me into writing more. So fair warning that Charles will not be written as well as he once was. Erik will presumably be at the same level he was before seeing as I was writing him from the start.
> 
> Anyway, sorry for the ridiculously long delay and here is a new chapter. Erik's chapter is also almost done and should be up shortly. I apologize in advance for what is coming in Erik's chapter.

Whatever thought Charles may have held of his mother’s death changing any part of his life was quickly proven false. Life moved on easily from Sharon’s passing in a way that was nearly surreal. At times Charles felt as if he should start screaming at the world to let it know that something had gone wrong because how could an event so monumental be marked with nothing but the occasional word of condolence?

It had been a fair number of years since he truly felt a connection to his mother, but that fact changed very little about the way that his chest ached with the pain of her death. Raven seemed quite content to ignore it all entirely, though Charles had caught her looking forlornly into space a few times. Perhaps mourning what _could_ have been more than mourning what was.

Getting back to work was a relief that Charles sorely needed. The children welcomed him happily and regaled him with tales of the various substitutes they had, pleading with him not to leave again. More than one of them gifted Charles with drawings – the quality of which was questionable at best – for seemingly no other purpose than to remind him of why he should stay.

He had to admit that it was a compelling argument.

Not that he had any intention of leaving again anyway. Being back in the school felt like coming back to himself. Away from the oppressive air of grief that had haunted his steps every day he spent at Sharon’s bedside. This was the life he had chosen for himself, smiling children filling his days and the comfort of a modest apartment to come home to where he could so often count on the companionship of Raven.

Lately Raven had been accompanied by Hank, but it was well worth the added company to be able to see his sister smile and laugh so freely.

Yes, life moved on regardless of the unfortunate interference of death. Time passed, and with it the growing desire to hear from Erik again. Not that that desire ever truly left, but it certainly became far more pronounced the longer Charles went without communication from his soldier. Something about seeing Raven talking animatedly with Hank on the other side of the room made Charles miss Erik far more keenly than usual.

It was with more exuberance than a schoolteacher should likely show that Charles went racing towards Raven the day he spotted a worn looking envelope sitting atop the mail as she brought it in. He called out a hurried apology for nearly running into her, but wasted no time in snatching the letter away and darting off to his room.

A voice in his head – which sounded very like his late mother’s – chastised him for the breach in decorum. Charles ignored it as he tore open the envelope and greedily soaked up every word from his soldier. That enthusiasm sputtered and died with remarkable speed by the time he reached the end. The words swam across the page as his fingers clutched a bit too tightly at the paper, crumpling the edges beyond repair. Charles sunk down onto his bed, wearier than he had been since the day he left the mansion for the last time.

Still, he needed to write a response regardless of the conflicted feelings Erik’s letter had sparked.

_April 7, 1961_

_Dearest Erik,_

_You are right to think that many have offered their sympathies for my mother’s passing, though truly your condolences seem more heartfelt than most others. Many of those who tried to comfort me both in the weeks before her death and in the time after are simply reciting the words out of a desire to be polite and not because they care about my loss. I suppose that is what I should have expected from the kinds of people my mother surrounded herself with. Few who knew her will ever actually mourn her. I thank you for being one of the few to seem genuine in your desire to ease my sorrow._

_I also find myself struggling to find the correct word to attach to you. I confess, Erik, that you seem like something far greater than a friend at this point, certainly more than a mere pen-pal. I have read a great many books and can say honestly that my grasp on the English language is quite extensive, yet I do not recall ever coming across a word that can convey how attached to you I have become. Admittedly this is not what I anticipated starting when I sent that first letter, but I cannot say I disapprove of what has become of us._

_My friend, I do not know whether to laugh or to feel sorry that you could not find any strawberries. You truly must be losing your hard-earned reputation if your men are so comfortable that they would play such a prank. Perhaps giving them one of your shark-like smiles would instill some of that fear again? I somewhat doubt it; I am afraid that you may have permanently ruined your image by this point. Personally, I think it is for the better. It must be lonely sometimes over there and I imagine it helps to have some level of camaraderie between you and your men. You may mourn the loss of your reputation, but I think I may just need to celebrate it._

_There is no need to apologize for bringing up your own hurts. The fact that I have lost someone does not in any way make your pain less valid. If anything I would want to thank you for telling me. That sounds odd now that I write it, so let me rephrase. It means a good deal to me that you would trust me enough to speak of something which I imagine causes you great pain. I cannot begin to know what it would be like to lose a daughter. I think perhaps I understand a little more now of why you find it so difficult to see this place as home. It is surely not my place to pry into details on the matter, but know that if you ever wish to speak to me of any of your pain I will be here to listen. Albeit from half a world away and on somewhat of a delay given the time between letters._

_I find myself very curious as to what rumors your men have started about me that would be spurred on by a gift of paper hearts. Actually, I think I may have answered my own question. I can see exactly what theories paper hearts would lead people to. It was not my intention, but I don’t entirely mind if they draw that conclusion about me. I hope it hasn’t caused you any trouble._

_My words to you have always come easily in the past, but this was a challenge to write. A part of me feels selfishly hurt by your choice to stay and I cannot pretend otherwise. I am angry. Not at you, because I could never fault you for wanting to protect your men, but at the world and the war and everything else that has conspired to keep you in harm’s way. Of course the selfish side of me is displeased to know that I have to wait once again on that chess game which I thought was a mere handful of months away, but I am also terrified at the thought of you spending another half a year risking your life. Have you not given enough already? Erik, you deserve to have some measure of peace in your life. Move to Germany or come home to the states, I care not which you choose, but I beg you not to throw yourself back into the fight. It’s a miracle that you have managed to stay unharmed for so long; staying longer will only tempt fate. I presume that it will be too late by the time this letter arrives for any argument I make to sway you, but I cannot help protest your choice nonetheless._

_You’re wrong by the way. You claim that no one here needs you. Erik Lehnsherr I can assure you that I need you. Of course I have Raven and Moira, who are both amazing in their own ways, but do not think for one moment that having them in my life in any way dims how much you mean to me. I want you alive and I need you in my life. I need you_ here _. Or somewhere I can know with certainty you are safe. If you do not wish to return to the states I understand, but do not make the mistake of staying in Vietnam. I fear if you stay you will be lost in that place. I fear another tour will turn into another and you will keep fighting until there is nothing left of you at all. I do not want to lose you, Erik._

_I appreciate having your word that you will live and I will get my chess game, but it becomes harder to believe those words when you once again sign your life away needlessly. It is likely too late to stop you this time, but I plead with you to let this be the end._

_All of my love,_

_Charles_


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is structured slightly different from the rest by necessity. Rather than have just one glimpse of Erik's life you get a couple of different moments set apart by line breaks before Erik's letter at the end. This will be the last chapter to contain a letter, so the entire format of chapters that has existed up til now will disappear after this.

Mail had been horribly slow lately and Erik was at the point of glaring at the small stack of mail every day that it failed to contain anything from Charles. Actually he glared even when it finally _did_ bring him Charles’ letter because somehow it made him feel better. Also he had learned that it amused Scott to see him glowering at inanimate objects that dared disappoint him and Erik would hate to make the man miss out on his daily entertainment.

The past few weeks had brought Erik far closer to his entire group in ways that he both loved and was absolutely terrified of. Lately he had even discovered that there were many of them he could actually confide in about serious topics and a handful he could ask advice from. Once in a while, he even _followed_ their advice.

One particular piece of advice was something that Erik looked forward to telling Charles about. He suspected the news would be taken favorably; a thought which was only confirmed when Erik read Charles’ message. He wasted no time starting his answer.

A soft smile crossed Erik’s lips as he placed the pen down and carefully folded the letter. He did his best to keep the ever-present mud off of the paper as he put it in an envelope, but it was a pointlessly futile battle. He supposed that it didn’t truly matter as long as the words were still legible by the time they reached New York. Though that really didn’t seem to matter either, because he would be on his way there himself soon and whatever words the mud had smeared away would be made clear by his physical presence.

He would be lying if he tried to deny the flutter of nerves that stirred in him at the thought of actually meeting Charles. So much could be hidden in the letters on a page and Erik was, quite frankly, scared of that fact. Both that Charles wouldn’t like who Erik was in person or that perhaps Charles would not be quite what Erik imagined him to be. Glancing at the letter from Charles, he determined once again that it seemed worth the risk.

Or _lack_ of risk really. After all, he was choosing to leave behind the place that was a constant threat to his life. Choosing Charles meant choosing to live and that was something Erik hadn’t done in a long time. It wasn’t so much that he hadn’t wanted to live, he just had stopped caring whether he did or not. Having something to live for was as unusual as it was exhilarating and terrifying.

For once, he didn’t send the letter off the second he was done writing it. Erik set it on his desk for safekeeping until he could work up the nerve to actually mail it. There was still time to change his mind, time to ignore the advice of his men and the call of his own heart, but once that letter was out of his hands it would be too late. He would hold on to it for a day or two before sending Charles the good news.

 

* * *

 

 

An all-too-familiar high pitched whine met Erik’s ears and he had mere moments to shout a warning before the mortar hit. His ears rang with the shrill echo of a deafening sound and his lungs protested the dirt that had been accidentally inhaled when the shell spewed up the surrounding earth. It took a few moments for him to truly register that something was wrong, and a few moments more to realize what it was. Shock had dulled any sense of pain, but Erik could not fail to miss the warm sensation of blood starting to seep through his uniform.

The sound he let out was more bewildered surprise than anything else, and his hand came automatically up to his chest where he could feel the beginning twinges of pain as shock faded away. Clumsy fingers found shrapnel sticking out of swiftly reddening flesh and Erik sucked in a harsh breath through gritted teeth as the dull pain spiked into something far uglier.

Somewhere beyond his still ringing ears, he thought he heard the yells of his men. They might have been calling his name, they might have been screaming as they met their own deaths. Erik just knew that somehow he had ended up on his knees, listing forward as his head spun with pain and light-headedness. The ground came at him too quickly, but Erik let out no more than a muffled cry when the dirt drove the metal further into his body as he landed. He wasn’t certain if he was breathing anymore, the telltale sound of air was drowned out by the deafening thud of his heart pounding in a mad attempt to regain the blood that was spilling quickly to the ground.

Erik’s vision blurred, disappearing entirely at the edges, though that mattered very little he supposed. What use was eyesight in a man’s final moments when the only thing he would see was the same dirt and foliage that had surrounded him for months. The mud-splattered feet of a stranger were unexpected though, as was the rough way Erik was shoved onto his back by a man pointing a gun at him and grinning cruelly. The stranger placed a foot on Erik’s chest, right over one of the bleeding wounds, and pressed down hard to keep him in place.

Erik found that he did in fact have enough air left in his lungs to scream.

 

* * *

 

Scott knocked on the door of the man he had always heard so much about. It was hard to forget the way Erik’s eyes had lit up whenever he started talking about Charles. When the unthinkable had happened, it was Scott who first realized that someone needed to let the teacher know. Which had somehow turned into Scott being the one actually showing up at a stranger’s door bearing terrible news and a heavy heart.

Erik had been lost over a month ago, and no one knew for sure how long before that it had been since the staff sergeant had written his last letter. Either way, Charles was likely already worried about the tardiness from Erik.

Footsteps sounded inside the apartment and Scott stood just a little straighter in anticipation of the door opening. His uniform looked spotless in a way that it never could in the jungles, though if anything that made him feel even more out of place as he stood there. In his hand was the letter that had been found on Erik’s desk. If he couldn’t deliver Erik himself to Charles, Scott was glad that he could at least deliver the last message that the staff sergeant had wanted to send.

_May 5, 1961_

_Charles,_

_I wish that I could do more to help. I may not have known your mother, but I don’t see any reason that I can’t mourn her death. She meant something to you and that means that at least in some way her life was important to me. There may not be many who are sad that her life ended, but I would count myself among those few regardless._

_It helps to know that I am not the only one who can’t figure out what label belongs on our friendship. I spent a while talking recently to the men serving with me and the group came to the conclusion that I love you. I do believe they’re correct, though I haven’t figured out just yet exactly what kind of love it is that I feel for you. I suppose I have time to figure that out; no reason that I need to find all the answers today._

_The loss of my reputation with my men has been far more of a blessing than a curse, much to my surprise. I actually enjoy their company and I hadn’t realized just how good it was to have people to talk to until I started acting a bit more human with my men. They still think my smile is reminiscent of a shark, but now they think it’s entertaining rather than frightening. Makes me wonder if they are aware of what a shark is, because I don’t think that a shark grinning at someone should ever be considered entertainment._

_You are correct in assuming that my reluctance to consider the states to be my home anymore has a significant amount to do with the death of my daughter. I have a nice house in a good neighborhood just outside of Washington DC and I don’t know if I can ever connect that empty building with home again. However, I am beginning to realize that the United States is large and there is no reason I need to run from the entire country just to avoid one house. I think I could find a home again somewhere closer to the one I left behind. Perhaps in New York?_

_Don’t worry about causing any trouble. The majority of my men had already drawn their own conclusions about me long before you sent me a letter full of hearts. They aren’t incorrect in their assumptions where I am concerned, so I never bothered to stop them from theorizing. It’s good to confirm that you are alright with a group of complete strangers on the other side of the world believing you to be somewhat less than straight. The hearts definitely tipped you beyond being able to convince my men of anything else._

_On the topic of my men, as I’ve mentioned I spent a good deal of time talking to them lately. Many topics were covered, but one thing that kept coming up was my choice to serve again. They rather unanimously held the same opinion that you do regarding my sticking around. A couple even threatened to kill me themselves if I didn't get the Hell out while I still could. They’ve kept me from actually signing anything and now I find myself just a month away from the end of my tour and the thought of leaving this godforsaken place is growing in appeal with every hour. I wanted to stay for all of the men that I’ve served with, but when even they are insisting I go home it seems perhaps I should listen. I may have been too eager to leap back into another half a year of fighting._

_My decision was already made by the time I got your letter. I’m flying home in June, Charles. I don’t know for certain when I’ll be able to get to New York, but it will be far sooner than you likely expected given the contents of my last letter. The two of us can have that game of chess and, if you’re open to the idea, I think I would like to buy you dinner._

_Love,_

_Erik_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charles is in for a horrible surprise when he opens that door, so I won't keep you guys waiting too long. Sorry again it took me forever to update.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a failure at updating and I should stop making promises about future chapter release dates. I try to write these in pairs so you'll have an Erik chapter shortly because it's already partially written but I don't know when the next set will come after that. I got a review today that inspired me to come back to this story and I am so sorry it took so long.
> 
> Also, to all those who took the ending of the last chapter at face value, do not lose hope. This story is not done and it does not have a sad ending.

The most common visitor to their little apartment was Hank, so when the knock came at the door Charles just smiled at the way his sister’s eyes lit up and graciously waved her towards the door as he stepped in to finish the dishes. There was always the possibility that it would be Moira stopping by to have tea with him, but she usually called first so he thought it unlikely.

It was therefore a little surprising when Raven wandered back to the kitchen, leaning on the door with confusion on her features. “There’s a soldier at the door asking for you,” she told him, and Charles’ heart leapt into his throat as his hands froze. He’d been trying not to think too hard on how long it had been since any communication came from Erik—half afraid that he had offended the man with his words and half afraid that there were worse reasons for his silence.

Lately Charles had taken to lying in bed at night trying to think of all the pieces of his last letter that might have been reason for the man across the water to stop speaking to him. The implication of homosexuality—still far from accepted by many. The pleading words for Erik to leave the service—too needy perhaps. Laughing at him about the strawberry incident—it seemed a small slight but Charles was willing to take any alternative to Erik going quiet because the worst had happened.

To have a soldier here though… His first thought—desperate hope really—was that Erik had shown up at his door. It was too soon for that if the man re-enlisted, but just about the right timing if that decision had somehow changed. And _god_ Charles wanted to believe it was that, but cool logic reared its head and a far less pleasant possibility surged to the front of his mind.

Slowly Charles rinsed the soap suds from his hands and toweled them dry before turning to face Raven completely. He was not encouraged by what he found. There was no recognition in her expression to say that the man at the door was Charles’ solider and she had certainly seen the picture enough times that she _should_ recognize him.

Maybe it had been too long since she looked at it. Or Erik cut his hair differently. Or his sister was trying to pull a prank on him.

“Thank you, Raven,” he told her quietly. “I’ll finish cleaning up later, you needn’t worry about it. I suspect you have other things you would rather be doing.” Charles’ smile was weak, but Raven beamed at him radiantly as she swooped in to kiss him on the cheek and darted out the door again. No doubt she was already halfway through dialing Hank’s number and the phone will be tied up for hours.

Deciding he shouldn’t stall any longer—out of courtesy to the probably-not-Erik soldier if nothing else—Charles left the relative safety of the kitchen and braced himself as he turned to face the still open door. It was a stranger staring back at him, waiting politely to be invited in. In the part of his mind that wasn’t still clinging valiantly to the last vestiges of hope, Charles noted that he should probably chastise Raven later for not being thoughtful enough to at least let the man in to sit on the couch or something. It seemed the least that they could do for a soldier who risked his life in defense of their country. Especially one who looked quite as heartbroken as the gentleman at their door. Heartbroken and apologetic, which was a combination Charles very much wished he didn’t have to find out the reason for.

“Would you like some tea?” he asked, forcing a cheerful smile as he closed the distance to the door. If he can just postpone the words he can practically see waiting to spill out of the stranger’s mouth, Charles was certain that he could change them. Make them less capable of hurting him. The tag on the man’s uniform read ‘Summers’ and Charles stared at the printed name for a moment rather than meet the eyes of the man wearing it.

“You look just like that picture he always kept with him,” Summers said with a sad smile, ignoring the offer of tea. He paused for a moment, as if waiting for some kind of reaction other than the way Charles’ face paled as he jerked his gaze up. After getting nothing more he goes on a little hesitantly, his hands toying nervously with something that looked a bit like well-worn paper. “He didn’t have any next of kin, but we all figured that if there was anyone who should be informed it would be you.”

“No.” The word came out at a whisper as Charles shook his head slowly. He couldn’t even hear his voice over the ringing in his ears so he repeated that single word again far louder and with more conviction. Because if he said it firmly enough it would be true. “No. This is a cruel joke and I do not appreciate it.”

Summers looked for a moment like he was swallowing down some of his own grief, but the expression was fleeting and soon it was once again a disciplined soldier standing at his front door.

 _Still_ at the front door. Charles wondered if the man was opposed to stepping inside the residence of the people he was destroying. He also wondered if the man was naturally tan or if that was a result of the sun in Vietnam. He wondered if Summers had served for long. He wondered if he was drafted or chose this fate freely. Did he have a family who worried over him? What was his specialty? His story? Did he serve under Erik?

No. He was trying to distract himself from thoughts of Erik. No reminders of that shark-like grin or the way warmth seemed to bleed through the words in every letter the man sent.

Something in the way Charles’ face fell from contrived anger and denial to sorrow must have given Summers the cue he was looking for because he chose that moment to reach out. Gently he pressed a hand to Charles’ shoulder, squeezing lightly in what was poor comfort given the nature of their discussion.

“There’s a usually procedure for this sort of thing,” Summers murmured. “But these aren’t exactly normal circumstances and I’ve never gotten any sort of training on how to break news like this. I’m sure I could have done a better job. None of our superiors saw the need to contact Lehnsherr’s pen pal, but those of us who fought with him… Well we know what you meant to him and we couldn’t let you just wait for a letter that would never come.” He seemed to recall something as those last words fell out of his mouth. Summers held out his hand, offering the crumpled paper to Charles soberly. “He did write you this before…” The man trailed off, looking lost for words.

Charles took the paper—he can tell now that it was a letter—with shaking hands as he whispered, “Before _what?_ You haven’t said the words yet. What exactly happened?”

He knew of course, but he needed to hear it said. He needed that final damning evidence to prove that this was real and he could’t escape from the truth. His eyes burned with unshed tears and his back ached in that way it always did when stress got to him more than usual, but Charles forced himself to stand tall and look Summers in the eye while he waited for the words to hit.

To his credit the soldier seemed to understand the need and he straightened up, folding his hands behind him in a formal Army position and tearing Charles apart with the merciless sentence that fell from his lips. “Staff Sergeant Erik Lehnsherr was labeled missing in action on the eighth of May and declared dead on the first of June, 1961.” The formality out of the way, Summers deflated a little and added in a softer tone, “He fought, and died, bravely. Many of us owe our lives to Erik and he will not be forgotten.”

The last words are nearly lost on Charles who was fighting not to crumble the letter—Erik’s _last_ letter—into a ball in his hands. What use was fighting bravely if he still died? “Thank you for telling me,” he said in a daze, too many emotions clawing at his heart for Charles to settle on a single one. “I think I would like to be alone now. I think it’s about time I find out what final thoughts Erik-” His voice caught in his throat at the name and Charles struggled to speak past the lump. “What more thoughts he had to share with me.”

“If you need anything,” Summers interjected softly, “someone to talk to later perhaps, you can call me.” He dug in his pocket for a scrap of paper and handed it to Charles who accepted it numbly. The name Scott Summers was written on it along with a phone number that he was relatively certain he would never use. Still it was a thoughtful gesture and clearly one Scott had planned ahead of time, given that he already had the paper, not just a spur of the moment offer that he would regret later.

Charles nodded his appreciation, unable to force more words out, and then despite the full knowledge that it could be considered rude he shut the door with Scott still standing there.

For a few heartbeats, Charles stood frozen, the letter in one hand and the scrap of paper in the other as he worked to process the fact that his worst fears had been confirmed. Then morbid curiosity got the better of him and with a decisive move he tore open the letter and started poring over the last words of Erik Lehnsherr.

Raven found him an hour later curled up in front of the door with the letter still clutched in his hands while muffled sobs tore through his body.

_June 19, 1961_

_Erik,_

_I still can hardly believe you’re gone._

_I feel as if I should be still saving up the details of my life so that I can regale you in my next letter, but then I remember that you won’t read any of my letter anymore no matter how many I try to send. It hits me like a blow every time; each more painful than the last._

_Raven tells me that healing will take time, but I can see in her eyes that she fears I may not ever let you go. How can I? We may not have ever met but I cannot recall another soul who spoke so strongly to my own and I refuse to just move on with my life as if you never existed. You did exist and I feel as though I have lost my closest friend and the greatest adventure of my life is over before it even began._

_And the worst of it is knowing how close I was to having you safely here with me. To think you had given up the thought of spending more time in that godforsaken place only to have it steal you away at the last moment._

_I hope you didn’t suffer, my friend. I hope your end was quick and your afterlife is far happier than what you had here._

_Am I being too dramatic? You told me you loved me, so I have to believe that this meant as much to you as it did to me. It was important, right? It was worth something and the fact that I feel as if I am missing a vital part of myself is a perfectly valid way to feel. Sometimes I try to convince myself that it isn’t—that you were just some stranger half a world away who should never have impacted me so much—but it isn’t true. You told me you loved me and my deepest regret is that I never had the chance to say the same to you._

_I like to think you already knew. I do believe I signed one of my letters with that word once, but I find it hard to recall now. I like to think you at least understood what you meant to me._

_I loved you, Erik Lehnsherr._

_I still love you. I’m not sure I will ever be able to rend that emotion from my heart._

_May you be at peace,_

_Charles_

He left the letter in his desk drawer without ever bothering to put it in an envelope. The words collected tears, but never dust. He reread it too often for that. Charles reread it just as he reread all the saved letters from his soldier and just as he reread every one of the letters he wrote in the following months and never had the chance to send.

Raven told him it was unhealthy to keep writing them but Charles told her if he wanted to speak to ghosts it was well within his rights.

It was as he folded up the newest letter and placed it gingerly in the nearly-full drawer that a knock came at the door of his apartment.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well it's been another like half a year. I am not good at this. No one should allow me to write things.

The heat was scorching in the way which burns lungs with every draw of breath. Stifling and miserable to even exist in, let alone be held prisoner in. Not that Erik’s mind was quite functional enough to pick out the individual discomforts of his situation. Pain and starvation had stolen all but a dull haze of instinct from him. The occasional spark of agony roused him from his fogged thoughts—like the sharp crack of bone when they worked their way through his fingers figuring out how many they needed to break to make him talk.

The answer was all of them. Erik clung to his pride with stubborn defiance and refused to give them any of the information he had about the movements and strategies of the troops he’d once fought beside. If he was going to die here, he was going to do it without betraying the men still struggling to win a hopeless war. That was the one thing he knew with certainty no matter how far his mind strayed from reality in its attempts to escape the misery.

Once in awhile Erik dragged enough coherency from his mind to spit curses at his captors, but the instances of lucid thought were growing fewer and farther between. Which was alright with him really. Erik had long passed the point of being ready for it all to end. The days when the darkness claimed his mind were the most blissful thing he had to look forward to anymore. For that darkness to become permanent… Well, it would be a mercy he didn’t entirely expect but would appreciate nonetheless.

Anything to stop the gnawing hunger and the incessant agony of each movement pulling at poorly healed scars and infected wounds.

It wasn’t the first time Erik had found himself in captivity—a fact which he used often to remind himself that he survived Auschwitz so he can survive this—but it is a thousand times worse now that he’s old enough to understand the futility of hope. As a child, there had been adults around who tried to protect him from the worst of the horrors and it had meant more than he could possibly say that he wasn’t suffering alone. To curl up at night with other broken people and encourage each other in some small way that they could all survive another day was often the only thing keeping him going in those long years of lost childhood.

There were others sharing Erik’s captivity this time as well, but many didn’t speak any of the languages Erik knew. The ones who he could communicate with were most often kept separated from him. For cruelty’s sake alone he was sure. Far easier to demoralize the prisoners if they have no ability to talk to others who could relate to their suffering. The best Erik could ask for was shared glances that spoke of indescribable pain and a constant plea for death.

So he shut down. Erik stopped fighting for clarity and he stopped trying to break out—he stopped believing he had the strength to succeed at that early on. Some tried to escape with the full knowledge that they wouldn’t manage it, but their attempts were closer to a glorified suicide than anything else and Erik wasn’t sure he even had the strength for that. He would never make it close enough to the fence to be shot so all an escape attempt would earn him was more pain.

The days dragged on and Erik stopped trying to resist the inevitable crawl towards death.

That may have been why when there was more commotion than usual in the camp, Erik didn’t really think much of it. What use was there in paying attention to what was likely just another failed escape or possibly a few unruly new inmates still learning how little reason there was to fight. He tucked himself into the darkest corner of the cell he’d been thrown into four days ago when his captors had gotten annoyed at him. If anyone decided to take frustration out on prisoners, Erik intended to make himself as small a target as possible so they might overlook him.

Voices passed by with shouts in a language Erik still hadn’t found the mental capacity to try learning and he pulled his legs against himself tighter with a shudder. They didn’t stop at his cell, but Erik didn’t let that fool him. They could always change their minds and he had been in solitary for long enough now that he was certain they’d come to collect him soon enough. They always did.

It was only when silence stretched on for long enough to convince Erik that whatever caused the commotion had been dealt with and still no one was coming for him that he let himself believe perhaps he was actually going to be left alone. Of course that was also when the door of his cell opened. Erik pressed tighter against the wall as if somehow that act might make him invisible and spare him from whatever plans had settled today in the minds of his captors. Why couldn't they have just left him alone this once?

It really was an odd dichotomy how he so desperately wanted the company of another human being to talk to but at the same time he cherished the time alone because in the moments where he was granted contact with others it usually ended painfully at best.

This time, he was sure, would be no different.

Erik clenched his eyes shut, in part to block out the blinding light from the door but it certainly also helped him try to convince himself that maybe he was dreaming and he would wake once again alone. A hope that he had dashed a few moments later when a hand fell to rest on his shoulder and Erik flinched away from it with a soft whine.

“It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you,” an unfamiliar voice stated. It took Erik a while to process that the words were English and even longer to sort through the shambles of his mind to find their meaning. A lie of course, but a lie Erik desperately wanted to believe. “What’s your name, soldier?” came the stranger’s voice again; closer this time as if the man had knelt down beside Erik.

Erik didn’t answer, but his fingers dug into his arm where his serial number had been stamped in years ago. Right now that number seemed more accurate than anything else. Once again he had been relegated to a category of something less than human. Not a creature who had a name, but one who had a number which served no real purpose in distinguishing him from the untold others just like him.

There is silence for long enough that Erik almost allows himself to think he has been left alone. Long enough that he dares to open his eyes with the hope that he will find the cell empty. Instead he sees the furrowed brow of someone wearing a particularly dirty, but still entirely familiar, uniform. Hesitantly, Erik reached out to run his fingers across the name stitched onto the front of the man’s shirt to make sure it was real. “Scott,” he murmured softly, more a question than anything. The face didn’t look quite right but he was positive that the name Summers went with the name Scott.

“Alex,” the soldier answered with a small smile at the fact that he’d gotten a response. “Scott’s my brother. He’s back in the states now. Did you serve with him?”

Erik nodded slightly, pulling his hand back to wrap around himself again. It felt safer that way. More protected.

“I’d say it’s about time we get you home too then. Can you walk?”

Another nod, but Erik made no move to actually get up. He wasn’t certain he actually  _ could _ walk and he certainly wasn’t willing to waste the energy for what was more than likely just a hallucination. Though he wasn’t too sure why he would be hallucinating the brother he had never met of a soldier he served with months ago. That seemed to add a tally to the column of thinking this may actually be real.

So did the pain that shot through him when Alex seemed to give up on him moving unaided, slipped an arm around Erik’s waist, and half-dragged him to his feet. Even if Erik had wanted to resist he certainly didn’t have the strength. Not three-quarters-starved and up against a soldier who presumably was in good shape underneath the muddy uniform.

He decided it was easier to just let it happen. To shuffle his feet along as best he could and see where exactly the soldier was taking him. At least most of his weight was supported by Alex, because Erik didn’t think he could have made it otherwise.

Where he was being taken, it turned out, was a small and beaten looking convoy of vehicles that were slowly being filled up with other men like Erik. It was as he stood blinking in the jarring light of the outdoors and seeing the clear signs of a fight all around him that Erik finally let it fully sink in. He had been rescued. This was real. Alex was real and the truck Alex was lifting him into was real as was the crate Erik curled up beside as he started to weep with relief.

He was free.

Battered and broken beyond any reasonable recognition, but free.

That was the mantra which kept him going when the small cluster of haggard men arrived at a hospital and Erik was carted off by strangers who looked at him with clinical detachment. When they started breaking his fingers again so they could set the bone properly and they re-opened half-healed wounds to drain the infection out he gritted his teeth together and clung to his freedom. It was agonizingly slow to even reach a point where he could keep down a small amount of bland food, but Erik would take the pain of healing over living so lost in hurt that he couldn’t even force his thoughts into coherency.

When Erik was present enough in his mind to actually speak, they managed to get his name out of him. He knew it was with the intention of being able to notify family, but just as solidly he knew they would find in his file that he had no one to tell. For a brief moment the smiling face of a young professor filled his mind, but really it was wishful thinking. What would Charles want with a soldier he had only spoken to a dozen times back when Erik was still slightly more whole? The man likely thought him dead and had moved on months ago.

Which was for the best. The man Charles had bonded with hadn’t made it back from that camp. Besides that, the more Erik stewed over it in his mind the more certain he was that Charles had likely been humoring him to some degree from the start. Erik, desperate for some connection in the world, had built up whatever existed between them to something far more than it likely was. Just penpals half a world away from each other.

No, Charles would have no interest now in the creature that had been found in a dark cell and couldn’t manage to pull himself together again into something human.

After all, a properly functioning human wouldn’t struggle so much with simple things like making his hands work well enough to feed himself or walking far enough to reach the bathroom without help. Someone normal wouldn’t lose themselves so often in the wreckage of a shattered mind that they would spend entire days just staring at a wall without any real ability to move beyond the tremors that shook their body when a particularly unpleasant memory took them. It was infuriatingly difficult to deal with his helplessness; more so as Erik came back to himself enough to find the scraps of pride he still retained.

He wasn’t sure he had ever hated himself more than in the days when he fully started to realize just how much he had been destroyed.

Then he got the news that he was well enough to travel and they were shipping him back home. Back to a world where the hospital wasn’t in constant danger of winding up in the path of the war and the people in the hallways were more than just ghosts and empty shells. Perhaps that would be enough to make Erik feel like less of an empty and broken shell too. Here the doctors treated him like a project to be worked on when they got bored and the nurses acted like the slightest gust of wind might shatter Erik entirely. Or any of them really, because Erik saw the staff treating the other recovering soldiers with similar attitudes.

Of course it didn’t help that no one talked about what had happened. The soldiers walked—or rolled if they, like Erik, couldn’t manage to stay on their feet and thus turned to wheelchairs—through the halls without a word. Nothing but hollow gazes set into hardened features still discolored with fading bruises and too long without light. Speaking might crack open the walls of the dream which allowed them to believe they had been freed.

Erik wasn’t any better than them regardless of how he tried to convince himself that he was. It was like looking in a mirror each time he passed one of the other ghosts. Identical haunted creatures.

Getting away from them—getting  _ home _ —would fix everything that was broken in his mind. It had to. Erik had nothing else to hope for. Though in the same breath that he desperately hoped getting home would help him, Erik couldn’t help feeling like he wasn’t ready to face the real world again. No matter what they told him, Erik didn’t feel well enough to do anything.

Not that they took his opinion into account.

He was helped onto the airplane by one of the nurses who had been particularly insistent on trying to get him to smile. It had never worked. She still tried one last time as she bid him goodbye and too-cheerily reminded him that he was going to see all his loved ones soon. She’d clearly never gotten the announcement that Staff Sergeant Lehnsherr had nothing waiting for him at home aside from the chance to maybe find some bit of peace as he rebuilt his life from the ashes.

In the end, home didn’t turn out to be home anyway. The airplane brought him back to the states and Erik was carted off to a recovery facility in upstate New York where they never outright answered his question of when he would be allowed to actually leave.

He fell into a largely forced routine of physical therapy and silent meals surrounded by other American soldiers who had seen too many horrors to speak. Occasionally one of them would start to scream or fight or run from some unseen enemy only to be carted back to their room until they calmed down. Occasionally the one screaming and fighting was Erik. On the days when the nightmares seemed too real or a shadow triggered some haunting memory and he just had to  _ escape. _

It was after one of those days when Scott first showed up to visit him, relief evident on his face as he settled into a chair beside Erik’s.

“We thought you were dead,” he told Erik. As if that knowledge had somehow been something Erik didn’t already know. “Should have known you were too stubborn to actually let them kill you.”

A heavy silence stretched between them as Erik met Scott’s hopeful eyes with his own weary gaze. There was nothing he could think to say to the man he had considered a friend. The only thought in Erik’s mind was that Scott had been right to think him dead and that seemed a thought that was best not voiced.

Seemingly deciding that no answer was going to come, Scott spoke again. “When Alex found you he wrote to me right away. Not that he knew it was you, but he told me he found someone who knew me and gave enough description that I was nearly certain it was you. Wasn’t too much longer before I found out for sure. There was some news article published about the camp being liberated and they gave a list of the survivors.”

Erik stiffened at the mention of the camp, his hand clenching on the arm of the chair as he turned away from Scott. Looking out the window always helped somewhat. Seeing grass, trees, and blue skies was a firm reminder of where he was.

More words tumbled from the kid’s mouth, talking about his life and current events and other such updates, but Erik tuned them out. He sat quietly until Scott’s words tapered off and eventually he gave up entirely. When Erik was left alone at his window again, he assumed it would last. He certainly wasn’t expecting Scott to come back a few days later and start once again to carry a one-sided conversation that Erik paid little attention to.

So Scott became a part of Erik’s routine as well. The companionship was more welcome than Erik would admit even if he rarely did more than sit in silence. Sometimes he listened, sometimes he just let the sounds of Scott’s words fill the room and made no attempt to decipher them.

Once, Scott showed up as Erik was trying in vain to make his fingers close properly around a pencil and get his hand to stop shaking enough for him to manage to write. It was embarrassing to be so incapable of something so simple and Erik hated the look of sympathy in Scott’s eyes when he caught him. Thankfully, the man never brought it up so Erik was allowed to pretend the moment had never happened.

Scott must have read more into the incident than he let on though, because the next time he came to visit there was a look on his face that Erik could only interpret as a man on a mission. A suspicion confirmed by the way Scott crouched down beside Erik’s chair as he said, “I know you didn’t ask for this, so don't get upset with me, but I brought you someone whose company I suspect you want a bit more than mine.”

Erik frowned down at Scott for a second in confusion before a second pair of legs came into his field of vision. Perhaps at a better point in his life, when Erik was more capable of critical thinking, he would have made the connection before he actually looked up. As it was, there was no real concept in his mind of who the new visitor could be so when Erik followed that pair of legs up to find a familiar face he was utterly stunned.

He never expected from that somewhat grainy grayscale photo that the man would have eyes quite so brilliantly blue.

“Hello, Erik,” Charles murmured quietly, a hint of hope mingled with the disbelief.


	21. Chapter 21

Charles opened the door expecting to find that Raven had accidentally left her key or Moira decided to drop by for tea unannounced as she sometimes did. He certainly wasn’t expecting to see the vaguely familiar face of the soldier who had delivered terrible news nearly half a year ago. It took a few moments for Charles to recall who the man was—likely made harder by the civilian clothes that had taken the place of the uniform—but the memory came back to him with a cruel sort of vengeance and Charles wanted nothing more than to shut the door and pretend he had never answered it at all.

 

Too many years of having manners drilled into him managed to stop his gut instinct from becoming reality. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again,” he noted instead of asking what the hell the soldier thought he was doing dredging up painful memories with his presence. Dimly, Charles thought he recalled the man’s name being Scott. Though the name had never been spoken aloud in any sort of introduction, just written on a scrap of paper with a number. Scott’s last visit had spared very little time for pleasantries like proper greetings.

 

“I wasn’t expecting to come back,” Scott replied. “I’m glad you haven’t moved. I would have had no idea how to find you.” There was a bit of determined resolve in his gaze that Charles couldn’t recall seeing last time.

 

Deciding that he really ought to provide a little more respect and hospitality to a soldier who had gone out of his way once to bring Charles news—unpleasant though it may have been—he opened the door a little wider and gestured for Scott to come in. “Am I to assume there is a reason behind you wanting to find me?” It wasn’t as if Charles had any other contact with the military. In fact he had avoided the very thought as often as possible because even the sight of the news reports on the war made his chest ache with the pain of lost opportunities. Any involvement had both started and ended with the life of Erik Lehnsherr.

 

Scott stepped across the threshold a little warily, as if afraid that he would be unwelcome despite the clear invitation. “I’m here for a reason,” he confirmed, catching sight of the couch and making his way over to sit down on it. “And I really don’t know how to start, but I suspect you might be better off sitting down.”

 

“I should get you something to drink first. Or food perhaps,” Charles protested weakly, well aware that he was just trying to stall. He wasn’t sure what good it would do—or really why it was even necessary—but he couldn’t quite help the feeling that once again the man was here to destroy some part of Charles. Silence met his almost hopeful attempt at dragging out the time before whatever news he was going to receive hit and Charles sunk down into his favorite armchair with a sigh. “Or I could get you something later and you can tell me why you look so much like you’re working your way up to telling me something tragic.”

 

No matter how hard he tried, Charles couldn’t make himself meet Scott’s eyes. Staring at his own hands as they lay clenched tightly together in his lap seemed a better alternative as he braced for an unknown impact.

 

“It isn’t tragic,” came the reply at last. The words didn’t seem entirely believable given all the fearful darkness in Charles’ mind. “It’s just… Honestly I don’t know how you’re going to react and I haven’t entirely decided if coming here was even the right option. I just had to do  _ something. _ ”

 

The man was silent again for so long that Charles’ patience nearly snapped. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff with no idea if the next gust of wind was going to knock him off or send him staggering away from the long fall to safety. He was on the verge of demanding an answer when one finally came.

 

“Erik is alive.”

 

The words hit with an enough force to start Charles’ world spinning as his breath caught in his throat. Optimism that had long been beaten back reared its head again even as Charles worked to fully process the words and ensure he hadn’t somehow misunderstood. It was only three words. Surely there wasn’t much room there for misinterpretation. “That’s impossible,” he murmured as hope warred with disbelief. “They buried him. I got the invitation to his funeral. From you I suspect, but I didn’t check the return address.” He had thrown the letter out and refused to even entertain the thought of going. It had been easier to childishly ignore it than it would have been to force himself to participate in that final proof of Erik’s death.

 

Charles registered a movement from Scott that was likely a nod, but it was hard to tell for sure when he still wasn’t looking directly at his guest. Even if it was a nod, Charles had little idea what it was in response to. Confirmation that he had sent the invite or merely confirmation that Erik was long buried?

 

“They never did find his body. The casket they buried was empty, a symbolic gesture more than a proper burial.” Scott explained quietly, as if he somehow thought that making the words softer would lessen their ability to turn Charles’ world upside down. “He was far from the only one who was given a funeral without a body. He’s alive, Charles. He was finally found and they’ve shipped him home.”

 

That finally brought Charles to look up, gaze snapping to Scott with a heady mix of hope and an unspoken demand for the words to be true. “Where exactly is he?” Charles asked, resolve thick in his voice even as it wavered with emotion. “Last I heard Erik didn’t really consider anywhere home anymore. Have they brought him back to the states?”

 

In his mind he was already making plans for taking a leave of absence from work if he found out that Erik had made his way back to Germany or wound up making a home in some other European country. Making plans was a good distraction from dealing with the sting of saying Erik’s name out loud again after so long trying to bury the memories. Making plans was  _ definitely _ better than the painful question of why Erik hadn’t tried to contact him once he was found. Why it was Scott on his couch and not Erik after all this time spent wanting nothing more than to finally meet the man he had grown so attached to.

 

Scott at least seemed to relax a little once he realized that Charles was somewhat out of his initial shock. There was still some hesitancy though in the way he answered, “He’s in a recovery facility about thirty miles West of here actually. You’re right that he didn’t really have a home anymore—especially given that his apartment and belongings were all donated or sold months ago when he was declared dead—so they just sent him to the first place that had an opening and he wound up in New York. He’s  _ here _ , Charles.”

 

As much as Scott tried to make it sound like nothing but good news, Charles was too smart not to pick up on a few less pleasant details, some of which helped answer a few of the pressing questions Charles hadn’t wanted to ask. Erik was in recovery, which left little room for doubt that he hadn’t come out of Vietnam unscathed. A few dots connect that Charles rather wished he hadn’t thought of as he started to realize how long it had been since Erik went missing and how much time that meant he had spent in captivity. And his homecoming after months of God only knows what was to be sent to a strange place and told that he had nothing left of the life he left behind. It makes moisture prick at the edges of Charles’ eyes. Had Erik not suffered enough already? Even before the war the man had seemingly had a tortured life, was it too much to ask that he be allowed some measure of peace now? How many times can one man lose everything without breaking?

 

But then, he supposed, Scott had in no way implied that Erik was unbroken by his experience.

 

“Why are you here, Scott?” Charles asked a bit warily. “Not that I’m not grateful to you for letting me know—I really am—but why now? What made you decide that you needed to contact me rather than wait until Erik could see me himself?”

 

Assuming Erik even  _ wanted _ to see Charles still. After so long… Charles had a hard time believing that his long-lost soldier could still care all that much for a lonely professor.

 

Looking somewhat surprised and somewhat chastened that Charles had called him out, Scott replied, “He’s been back for almost a three and a half months and he isn’t getting better.” The initial words came out in a rush but when Scott began to elaborate he noticeably slowed down to think through his words. “I first visited him after he had been back for about a week and I’ve seen him a few times a week since then but I can count the times he’s actually spoken to me on one hand. He seems lost in his own head most the time and the rest the time he’s just… He’s practically a ghost. The man who came back isn’t the Erik that I served with and it  _ scares _ me. I don’t know how to help him and I thought that maybe… Maybe you could bring him back. You were the one who got him out of his shell once and I just have to hope you can do it again. I should have thought of you sooner, but it didn’t even cross my mind until I saw him trying to write the other day and something just clicked. I’m here, hopefully, to bring you with me to see Erik.  _ Please _ . I don’t know how else to help him.”

 

Somewhere between Scott admitting that he was scared and him pleading with Charles, it struck the professor how very young Scott was. The first time they had met Charles had never really seen anything beyond the soldier who remained disciplined and calm as he delivered horrifying news. Even this visit he had carried himself mostly with an air of responsibility and maturity that made Charles ignore entirely the actual age of the man in front of him. Scott couldn’t be older than twenty. The kid was likely drafted at 18 and forced to grow up far faster than he should have. Now he had somehow wound up in a position where he felt he needed to have all the answers to helping an old commander and no idea how to actually  _ get _ those answers. He was scared and in over his head and begging for someone else to step in and help him shoulder the burden.

 

Not that Charles had any real hesitation in the first place, but if he had he would have agreed to Scott’s request just for the sake of helping out the clearly desperate kid.

 

“Of course,” he murmured before he had even fully absorbed the impact of Scott’s words. To think of Erik being quite so broken as he sounded was more than Charles could bear so he did his best to cling to the optimistic concept that perhaps Scott was more worried than he needed to be. Maybe Erik was actually doing alright and Scott was just exaggerating things because he was young and panicked easily over things that are actually small. Charles remembered being that young and how everything seemed so much more dramatic. Not that twenty was really all that long ago to him, but it felt like a lifetime. “When did you want to go?”

 

“I usually visit him on Wednesdays and Saturdays, so whichever of those would work better,” Scott answered with evident relief in his voice. “Or a different day really if those aren’t convenient. I’ve certainly had a time or two when I visited spur of the moment on another day so I can make that work.”

 

“This Saturday then,” Charles concluded with a slight smile. “Just tell me a time and I’ll be ready.”

 

That gave him two days to mentally prepare himself for coming face to face with Erik Lehnsherr. Faintly it occurred to Charles that two days probably wasn’t even enough time to wrap his head around the fact that Erik was alive _. _

 

Hurting and in need of something Charles wasn’t sure he could actually provide, but  _ alive _ .

 

* * *

  
  


The days flew by and Charles barely had enough focus to teach his students let alone actually figure out what he was supposed to say to Erik. How does one greet a ghost? It wasn’t something anyone had ever informed him would be a skill he might need. Of course the letters Charles had continued to write even after Erik’s death technically counted as speaking to the same ghost he had to confront now, but it was different somehow. The words that had so easily spilled onto paper whenever he spoke to the soldier all seemed wrong when he thought of saying them aloud and to Erik’s face.

 

He found himself quite torn as he slid into the passenger seat of Scott’s sedan on Saturday. The thought of meeting Erik was undeniably exhilarating, but the nerves stole a good deal of his confidence away and the fear of this all somehow going wrong—or worse yet being some cruel and elaborate hoax—stole the rest. The half hour drive was spent in painful silence that was only occasionally interrupted by Scott trying to engage him in small talk and quickly giving up when the answers he got were so clearly forced.

 

_ This may just be the worst mistake of my life _ , Charles couldn’t help think. There was so much potential for pain here in the simple act of meeting one dead soldier.

 

And no matter how hard he tried, Charles honestly could not convince himself to think of Erik as anything but that. A dead soldier. The man had been grieved and buried and Charles had...Not recovered exactly—he expected that wasn’t possible—but he had moved on with his life while dragging along the memory of Erik Lehnsherr knowing he would never have more than the fragments he held on to.

 

Paper snowflakes and laughter shared across thousands of miles. It was all he had and it would never be enough.

 

To think that he may have been wrong—that he could have more—was simply impossible, because if he allowed that thought in and Erik rejected him entirely then Charles would break. So Erik was dead and he would remain so until Charles had reason to believe that hope would not turn out to be in vain.

 

He was pulled from his rambling thoughts by the abrupt lack of the rumble of a car engine. Charles stared somewhat morosely at the cheery looking greeting placard beside the door of an obnoxiously bright building. Well-maintained flower beds and absurdly green grass spread along the grounds and the wide window Scott had parked in front of looked in on a comfortable looking seating area with fresh flowers in the center of each of the scattered tables.

 

It was almost idyllic enough to distract from the handful of men Charles could see who looked shuttered and miserable inside the facade of a welcoming facility.

 

The effort it took to get out of the car and follow Scott into the unknown was monumental but Charles somehow managed.

 

The door chimed when they walked through and the disinterested looking receptionist took one look at Scott before answering the question that she clearly already knew he was going to ask. “He’s in his room.” Her attention turned back to the book she held in her hand as she absently gestured to what Charles could only assume was a sign-in list.

 

Scott looked a little upset by her words, but he made no comment as he strode forward to write his name on the guest list with a confidence that showed just how familiar he already was with the process. When he was done he handed the pen to Charles expectantly and by the time the professor had signed himself in as well Scott’s frown had yet to fade. In fact it deepened when he turned away from the front desk and headed down a sparsely decorated hallway. Charles trailed after, a little thrown off by the irritated behavior. It hadn’t  _ seemed _ like anything said by the receptionist was overly rude.

 

“I wish they wouldn’t do that,” Scott muttered once they were out of earshot of the desk. Charles didn’t ask him to elaborate, figuring it was likely better to just let the man tell him in his own time. He seemed like the words were trying to burst out of him anyway. After another few steps Charles was proven right as Scott continued, “He’s  _ always _ in his room lately. They’re afraid of him so they practically keep him prisoner. I’ve told them a dozen times that he would do far better if he was allowed to spend time with other people but most the nurses insist that he would be a danger to others if left alone and they don’t have time to supervise him all day. And I  _ get _ that, because it’s understaffed as hell here, but how is he supposed to recover if they just abandon him entirely?” For a moment Scott just glared ahead of him, then he seemed to deflate some as he mumbled an apology for the outburst.

 

Charles hurriedly assured the younger man that an apology was unnecessary, but his mind was far more occupied with the fresh swell of questions Scott’s rant had elicited and the indignant anger he couldn’t help feeling for Erik’s sake. Most of the questions could be dealt with later so Charles didn’t voice them. One question though was perhaps a bit more important to ask. “ _ Is _ he a danger to others?” Unspoken but rather implied was the desire to know if there was danger to them.

 

Regardless of the answer Charles still intended to see this through. It would be good to go in knowing the risks though.

 

Scott seemed to hesitate as he thought of the right words. “He can be,” he finally admitted, stopping beside a closed door and making no move to go in. The small plaque in the center of the wood labeled the room beyond as ‘E. Lehnsherr.’ The sight of that name made something clench a bit painfully around Charles’ chest and his vision swam for a moment before Scott pulled him back by expanding on his statement. “Erik is a damn good fighter even at his worst. Add that to the fact that he can’t always seem to tell where he is and you wind up with a panicked army commander who sees danger and reacts to it exactly as he is trained to without stopping to think about the situation. He’s caused a few injuries here, but as long as you don’t push him too hard and you don’t startle him Erik isn’t going to hurt you. The worst he’s done to me is yell.”

 

The nod that Charles gave must have been enough for Scott to feel like he had properly warned the professor because without another word he reached out and opened the door.

 

“Wait here,” Scott told him. “Just long enough for me to give him some warning. I didn’t exactly let him know I was going to bring you.”

 

It was a truth which Charles had already largely assumed, but he had to bite back the protest at the knowledge that Scott had gone behind Erik’s back on this. It was far from unlikely that Charles would be an unwelcome visitor.

 

The room Scott entered was depressingly empty. No touches of comfort or personalization to offset the feel of a medical establishment. Charles lingered uncertainly in the doorway as he let his gaze drift over the few pieces of furniture and settle at last on the man Scott was already talking quietly to. He was sitting in a worn-out chair next to the window and all Charles could really see of him was the back of his head and the weary droop of his shoulders. The man hardly seemed to react to Scott’s presence or to whatever words were said, but Scott glanced at Charles and gave a slight nod so Charles took a steadying breath and crossed the room while Scott stood up and moved aside.

 

Each step was harder than the one before and yet he kept going. He turned to properly face the man hidden away in a darkened room and Charles could have sworn that the noise was audible as his heart thudded hard against his ribcage. Perhaps it  _ was _ audible. Perhaps that was what drew the man’s confused gaze up to Charles.

 

Their eyes connected and Charles’ heart gave another stuttered beat and then he dragged in a shallow breath as his eyes widened because it was all true. Erik was alive. The shark grin Charles was so fond of was noticeably absent, but the rest of the man’s features were too familiar to belong to anyone but Erik.

 

Charles took that in and braced himself against the rush of emotions that followed. Elation, hope, relief, and then—the more he noticed of Erik’s state—concern. He was pale and far too thin. Flickers of pain seemed to pass across his face when he breathed and more than a few freshly-healed scars were visible where skin was bare.

 

“Hello, Erik,” he said softly, half to break the silence and half to force himself to stop trailing his eyes across the damage while he wondered what further harm lay where no one could see.

 

“Charles.” The name was whispered with something bordering on reverence and enough layered feeling to make Charles’ breath stop for fear that any noise he made would take away from the beautiful sound of Erik’s voice.

 

It was just as well that he didn’t want to make any noise. He had none to make. For all the times Charles had dreamed of the moment he would finally meet Erik, he found that now that it was here he could think of nothing to say. No brilliant words to bridge the vast distance between them that felt as if it stretched farther now than it ever had when Erik was in Vietnam.

 

Then again, words were not the only way to bridge distance. A fact that Charles was reminded of when Erik began to move, stretching a shaking hand towards him. Without hesitation Charles moved closer, taking Scott’s recently vacated spot kneeling in front of Erik’s chair.

 

Erik’s fingers touched Charles’ cheek briefly before he jerked his hand back a few inches as if the contact burned. “You’re real,” he breathed out seemingly to himself. After another moment he closed the distance again, this time trailing his fingers along Charles’ jaw with a bit more surety. “You’re  _ here. _ ”

 

“I’m here,” Charles confirmed with a warm smile that was only slightly weighted down by the situation. He leaned into Erik’s touch and reveled in the sensation of calloused fingers against his skin. He could feel them trembling where they touched him and Charles pressed his own hand to the back of Erik’s—holding it to his cheek—because he needed the contact between them to be steady and firm. The disbelief that was evident in Erik was certainly in Charles’ mind too and nothing would make that better other than being able to  _ feel _ that Erik was alive and  _ here _ .

 

It was far from a perfect situation, but something in Charles still insisted that this was right. That this meeting was destined to happen and the connection between them was as real as the hand underneath his. The world had tipped back onto its axis and Charles could breathe again because the grave wrong that had been committed with Erik’s reported death was repaired. Everything was going to be alright.

 

And then the moment shattered. Something darkened in Erik’s eyes and the smile slipped from Charles’ lips as Erik tore his hand away and growled, “You don’t belong here. Get out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to write more for this chapter to avoid this lovely cliffhanger, but then I realized the chapter is already super long compared to all my others so I should probably not. I'll update again as soon as I can. Thank you for all the comments and support. I know many of you have been following this story faithfully despite my long absences and I appreciate it greatly. Your comments are what keep drawing me back to this story because you love it so much that I can't bear to leave you unsatisfied.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still sorry that updates are so slow now that I'm writing this alone. I'm so happy all of you keep sticking with it.

There wasn’t time for regret—not that Erik would likely have felt it anyway— before Charles reeled back as if Erik’s words had been a physical blow. There wasn’t regret, but there was definitely guilt clawing at Erik’s mind as he saw the pain of his words written across the professor’s features plain as day. Instinct made him want to erase it and for a brief moment instinct proved difficult to ignore so he stayed frozen with indecision between comforting Charles and pulling away. Charles had dropped Erik’s hand, but his initial retreat hadn’t moved him quite enough to separate them entirely. The very tips of Erik’s fingers still rested on his freckled skin and Erik absently tried to smooth away the hurt with a barely-there caress.

 

Then he caught himself and quashed down instinct long enough to pull his hand back entirely and tear his gaze away from the pain in Charles’ too-blue eyes. “Get out, Charles,” he repeated roughly, clenching his jaw and keeping his head turned resolutely away from the other man.

 

There were a few seconds in which Erik thought Charles was going to refuse, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. If it came down to it, Erik didn’t know if he could really bring himself to force Charles away. Then he caught movement out of the corner of his eye as Charles stood up slowly and backed away.

 

Good.

 

Erik relaxed just the slightest bit with the knowledge that Charles was doing what he was supposed to. Footsteps made it clear he was walking away and only a very small part of Erik wanted to beg him to stay.

 

“Why?”

 

The soft and pleading question cut through Erik’s victory like a knife and he would have flinched if he didn’t have his emotions tightly controlled already. He remained silent. If he didn’t answer then Charles would give up and leave. And if he didn’t say anything Charles wouldn’t be able to hear the conflict in his voice. Erik just had to wait and eventually those footsteps would start up again and carry Charles to where Erik could never reach him.

 

“ _ Why,  _ Erik?”

 

That time Erik did flinch. It was hard not to when he was hit with the fierce determination and demand in those brief words. Not the tone of a man who was about to give up and walk away. Which Erik somewhat suspected he should have known. He dimly recalled there being a handful of indicators that Charles was stubborn mixed into the letters he had tried so hard to stop thinking about.

 

He hated the question lingering in the air still. There was no answer to it that he could properly put into words and the pieces he could verbalize seemed entirely obvious really so he saw no reason to say them. The answer wasn’t going to change anything and he would rather spare Charles the pain of a drawn out goodbye.

 

Or maybe it wasn’t that. Maybe it was that Erik was scared if he verbalized his reasons for sending Charles away it would give Charles something to argue against and it was an argument he just might win. If Erik gave a list of reasons and Charles took the time to counter every one of them then Erik would have nothing left to cling to aside from bullheaded pride. That and the fear.

 

“Please leave,” he murmured, almost too quietly to be heard. Erik squeezed his eyes shut and wondered if he could just crawl to the bed and go back to sleep. Surely that would let him restart this day and erase all the feeling roiling around in his chest. “I don’t want you here.” Those words physically burned coming out of his throat.

 

There was a brief bit of muffled noise from somewhere behind him that Erik concluded was Scott stepping closer to Charles because moments later his hushed voice said, “Let’s go, Charles. This was a mistake. I’m sorry. Maybe another time.” A meaningless platitude even if Scott didn’t realize it yet. Erik had no intention of ever allowing Charles to come back.

 

“I’m not leaving until he answers my question.”

 

Scott sighed loudly in what could only be frustration before replying with, “I will carry you out of here against your will if that’s what it takes to get you not to push too far. I brought you here and I’m responsible for your safety.”

 

The implication of that phrase was crystal clear to Erik and it hurt. _No_ , his mind wanted to scream. _I would never lay a hand on Charles. You don’t need to protect him from me._

 

That wasn’t quite true though and part of him knew it. As much as he wanted to insist that he would never hurt the man who had come to mean so much to him, Erik was familiar enough by now with the ways his mind was broken to know that he couldn’t guarantee he would never lose himself. He was a danger to Charles and would remain so for as long as he continued to be too weak to control his feeble grasp on reality. Erik was glad Scott had called out the threat even before he had managed to break through the denial himself.

 

And he was glad for the lack of condemnation in Scott’s tone even as he tried to convince Charles to leave for his own safety. At least if Erik was going to be broken, it was good to have someone who wouldn’t entirely hate him for the fractured thing he had become. Someday, Erik was really going to have to find out why Scott stuck around. Pity perhaps. Or maybe just a need for someone who somewhat understood the things that they had all seen and done in the war. Erik could relate to that desire without a question even if he suspected Scott could easily find other people to empathize with who weren’t quite the trouble Erik had become.

 

“I came here of my own free will,” Charles snapped. “My safety is my own concern. I will  _ consider _ leaving when I have an answer to my question—providing it is a good answer—and not a moment sooner.”

 

Finally Erik turned his head enough to see his two visitors again, a look of resignation creeping onto his weary features. It seemed that he wasn’t going to be able to shut out his old pen pal with quite the ease he had hoped for. The hard mask he tried to maintain was doomed to failure from the moment Charles started to question him at all really.

 

He didn’t say a word as Charles brushed past Scott and came back to stand in front of Erik, determination making his eyes bright and frustration drawing his lips into a thin line. “I’ve waited too long for this to just leave without a reason. And I want something better than that you don’t want me here, because I’m not sure I’ve ever heard a more obvious lie. The way you reacted when you first saw me, the way you said my name and reached out to me… I refuse to believe that the man who acted like that would turn around mere seconds later and want nothing to do with me.  _ Why are you sending me away, Erik? _ ”

 

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” Erik replied quietly, darting his eyes away from Charles’ piercing gaze to avoid whatever new emotion might choose to show itself. There was silence for an uncomfortably long time before Erik broke down and gathered the courage to look at the other man again. With a bit more force this time he repeated, “I want you gone because you are the last person I want to see what I’ve become. I would rather make you leave now while you still have some belief that I am the man you knew instead of watching you slowly come to that realization yourself. I would have preferred if you just continued to believe I was dead, but that choice has been taken from me so I’m going for the next best option.”

 

While Charles was clearly forcing himself to stay as calm as he could, he still responded with a harsh and angry accusation. “You selfish bastard. You utterly  _ idiotic  _ man. Do you have  _ any _ idea what it did to me when I lost you? How much it destroyed me? You don’t get to make this decision for me anymore.  _ No one does. _ ” The last bit was stated with a brief glare towards Scott before his anger returned to Erik. “I deserve to be able to choose for myself if the man I believe you to be still exists and I will not let you take that away from me.”

 

Erik stared in stunned disbelief at the furious man as he seemed to wind down from his initial burst of emotion. He wasn’t sure how to respond, or even if there was a response expected. The seconds ticked by and Charles visibly gained just a fraction of control back with each moment. Finally he took a deep breath and rubbed his fingers against his temple in what looked to be a practiced motion. Erik suspected it was a way of massaging away a bit of the tension.

 

“My friend,” Charles said, far softer now as he knelt beside Erik again and took his hand to give it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t push me away. I can’t lose you a second time.”

 

There was so much hope in Charles’ eyes that it hurt to see. For the life of him Erik couldn’t fathom why anyone would put quite so much importance on even the possibility of being around him. He’d never been what could be called friendly. The shark comparison that he had always laughed about was a well chosen creature to relate him to and Erik found it difficult to imagine someone like Charles wanting much at all to do with someone sharp and cruel like Erik.

 

Even knowing that, it was absolutely impossible not to curl his fingers around Charles’ hand and squeeze back. The thought of still being wanted even with how broken he was had a powerful draw no matter how much he believed that it would end in pain.

 

“You will change your mind one day,” he murmured, eyes cast down to where their hands pressed together. The pale unblemished skin made Erik’s scarred and bent fingers look garish. “This will never last.”

 

He wasn’t sure if he was saying the words to Charles or to himself.

 

“I think you’ll find that I know my own mind quite well, Erik,” Charles responded in a tone that could almost be considered chastising. “I will not change it. Not about this. Not about  _ you _ . You don’t have to be alone, Erik. Whatever you think has been lost in you I will help you find. The pieces that cannot be repaired I will help you shore up so they can withstand whatever storms come. Trust me enough to let me help you heal rather than shutting me out so you can suffer this by yourself. I  _ want _ to help. So does Scott, and I’m sure there are others who care for you and would gladly support you if you would only allow them in.”

 

“I have told some of the others about you being here, sir,” Scott added meekly. “Charles is right. They want to be here for you too. I’m sure they would be glad to be able to visit you at least. I would have brought them sooner but I was never sure how you would react.”

 

Erik turned his gaze to Scott with a sad smile. “It would depend on the day I suspect. On how capable I am of being sane. To be honest I had tried to think about everyone else as little as possible. No one ever told me who survived and who didn’t so I kept hoping to avoid the confirmation that I failed all of them by getting caught. I like the ignorance of pretending that they all made it home. I know that it’s a lie, but if I never have proof of that fact I can stay in denial just a little longer. It helps.” It gives him the ability to hate himself just a little less than he otherwise would.

 

The young soldier’s feature clouded with pain that Erik understood wholly but had no idea how to relieve. “Many of them died,” Scott confirmed. The simple words stabbing sharp pain into Erik’s chest and making him flinch. “But I survived and so did quite a few more of the men who served under you. You didn’t fail us, you kept us alive. Under a different C.O I doubt I would be able to say that. I owe you my life, Erik.”

 

“Don’t,” Erik whispered, squeezing his eyes shut as if that would stop the words from hitting him so hard. “Don’t make me into something I’m not.” There had been enough of that already from all the people trying to convince him that he was somehow a hero. As if killing and letting people die was a trait to be admired. He was a monster not a man to be commended and looked up to.

 

Charles scoffed, drawing Erik’s attention back to him, and gave a look that pierced a bit too deeply into Erik’s hear than it should have. “You seem to be making  _ yourself  _ into something you’re not. You don’t need Scott or I to help with that. Perhaps you aren’t the glorified soldier we want to see in you, but you’re also certainly not whatever hopeless creature you seem to think you are. I think the truth lies somewhere in the middle and the only way for us to find out for sure is by being willing to meet halfway. Will you let us help you, Erik?”

 

“What if it doesn’t work?” Erik whispered. In the end that was what it all came down to. Erik was absolutely terrified that if he tred he would still fail. What if there really was no possibility of getting back to where he was? What if he remained a broken disappointment with a haunted past? Surely it was better to just accept defeat and acknowledge failure as the inevitable result.

 

But there was something in the determination Erik saw in Charles’ eyes that reminded him of a fire that used to exist inside him as well. A seemingly indomitable willpower that somewhere along the line Erik managed to lose and Charles… Charles made him want it  _ back.  _ Charles made him want to believe a better ending was achievable if he just got back into the fight. Not a perfect ending—that chance died for Erik years ago—but something less miserable than the existence he had resigned himself to lately.

 

By the time Charles answered his question with a firm, “It  _ will _ work,” Erik had already made up his mind. 

 

He tightened his grip on Charles’ hand and uttered a soft word of thanks. It wasn’t quite the unequivocal agreement that Charles was probably looking for, but it was the best Erik was able to give. Not because he doubted his own ability to keep trying, but because he had every expectation that it wouldn’t take long at all for the professor to realize that he had gotten himself into far more than he meant to. At some point Erik would become too much and he would be alone again, which was a state he was familiar enough with to not fear, and Erik didn’t blame Charles at all for the eventual day when his optimism gave out.

 

He was just grateful for the motivation Charles had given him which Erik hoped would be enough to give all the strength necessary to push through until he had something passable as a life again. It would be good to live. He had forgotten how to do that too in the long months of both war and captivity. He had forgotten that there was more to him than pain and anger.

 

“Excellent,” Charles stated with a radiant smile, clearly satisfied with the fact that Erik wasn’t arguing against him anymore. “For as long as you’re here I can visit you on weekends at the least, perhaps get you out of this dreary room for a bit while I’m here. What would it take to get you released from this godawful place entirely? I think it would be far better for you to live somewhere that could be a little more like home. I can’t imagine being surrounded by medical staff and unfamiliar people is particularly useful to your recovery. From what I’ve gathered no one here is particularly friendly to you.”

 

“I’m also not particularly friendly to them,” Erik interrupted with a slight smile. “Or have you already forgotten that I was somewhat of a loner before you came along and convinced me to actually interact with humans? It took months and even then I had far from mastered the skill. Lets just take things one step at a time and see where it goes. I’m not sure I’m ready for grand plans of escaping this place quite yet.”

 

Charles’ grin didn’t dim in the slightest as he nodded in agreement. “Of course. I got carried away. I just haven’t quite gotten over how pleased I am to know that you’re alive and I finally get to take you up on that game of chess. Next time I come, I’m bringing a set.”

 

The uninhibited joy at something so simple as Erik being alive was a mystery to him, so he only commented on the final part. “I haven’t played in a long while.”

 

“Then I’ll go easy on you. Then when you beat me I can ease my bruised pride with the knowledge that I let you win. It’s a perfect solution.”

 

For some reason Erik couldn’t quite name, the simple talk of finally having that game of chess made Erik’s eyes well up with tears. Emotion made his chest ache and for the first time in a long time it was with something close to hope. For however long he could manage to still have the bright and brilliant Charles Xavier in his life he was going to cherish every moment that he could. And when the end came and Charles decided Erik was too much of a burden, he would still keep doing everything in his power to get better simply because it would be what Charles wanted.

 

If he took the time to think about it, it was what Erik wanted too.


End file.
